


Pardon Your Prodigal Son

by GriffinRoar21



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: BAMF Stephanie Brown, Baby Damian Wayne, Batbrothers (DCU) Bonding, Batfamily (DCU), Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Drug Addiction, Gen, Good Older Sibling Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd and Damian Wayne Meet in the League of Assassins, Lost Days AU, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Jason Todd, References to Drugs, Stephanie Brown is Robin, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23385754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GriffinRoar21/pseuds/GriffinRoar21
Summary: He was doing this for Damian. No kid deserved to be raised in the League of Assassins. No matter what his personal feelings were, Jason knew Bruce was the better option. That didn't mean he was going to stick around and play happy families.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd, Talia al Ghul & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 457
Kudos: 1881





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is the first fanfic I've published in seven years. I've got a couple of chapters ready to go and a clear(ish) outline so lets see where this goes!

Jason did his best to keep calm. The constant buzzing of the Pit has died down to a minor whine – the soft exhalations of Damian’s breath against his chest were soothing that way. Holding the baby grounded him. He had to stop himself from stroking the dark, downy hair and disturbing his sleep. More than ever he needed the comfort and distraction he brought.

Damian was a constant reminder as to why he’d ended up here. Why he’d had to keep going. He’d crossed continents to get to this point, abandoned a plan for revenge and left his training unfinished. All to keep Damian safe. He’d been terrified and sick with nerves almost constantly. The League had caught up with them mere hours ago and he’d only just managed to get away. He’d wasted thirty minutes retching violently under a bridge after carefully checking the baby over for injuries. None thank God. Nobody wanted to go back to Talia and report that they’d spilled Al Ghul blood.

Not that he blamed them. Even thinking about his former sponsor right now produced a strange cocktail of guilt, fury and terror. There was also the rampant paranoia and thirst for blood, but they were pretty constant features of his brain function these days, so he probably couldn’t pin them on her.

He’d doubled back and placed dozens of false leads all along the winding trip back to the States. It was probably the only reason he’d evaded the death squad sent after him for so long. Of course Talia had trained him at least in part herself and was well aware of tactics he used. But she wasn’t the _only_ one who’d trained him and Jason liked to think he was pretty good at improvising.

He checked his position again, uneasily. He’d dodged landmines and snipers, ditched security and secreted himself onto trains on this trip. It was unnervingly easy to sneak onto Wayne Manor grounds by comparison. He told himself that it was because he knew how to evade the extensive security system, not because someone knew he was coming. They couldn’t have caught up to him again already. Surely.

He’d not managed to do much reconnaissance on the Manor itself. Talia would have been suspicious if she’d discovered him making frequent trips to Gotham when he wasn’t yet prepared to face off against Batman. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe her motives had been purely altruistic in sponsoring him. Putting aside the fact he could never trust anyone who held power over him again, it was clear she hoped he would change his mind. That somewhere along the way in between learning how to disarm bombs and murdering people smugglers, he would have found enough forgiveness in his heart to not want to kill her “beloved”.

He resented her for that. She may be more experienced than he was but he wasn’t so easily distracted that he wouldn’t notice her delaying tactics. Rather than outright confronting her about it, he’d used all that time and money against her. He’s always been an excellent student, but in building up his arsenal of skills against Batman he was a fanatic. All the better if he used those same opportunities to rid the world of the scum who used their well honed abilities to hurt the innocent. There was poetic irony there somewhere.

He’d never forgive Batman of course. But he would spare him, for Damian’s sake. The kid deserved to have at least one semi decent parent in his life. For all his faults, Bruce wouldn’t raise Damian to be the murderous leader of an ancient cult bent on immortality and world domination.

And Jason couldn’t keep him, much and all as he wanted to. Forgetting that the League would be on his tail until they finally caught him, he was eighteen, legally dead and without a high school diploma. Then of course, there was also the Pit thing. Not exactly candidate for Dad Figure of the Year.

Damian snuffled a little in his cocoon of blankets. Jason had been sure to wrap him up warm. The temperature change between Infinity Island and Gotham could have sent him into shock. And they’d been out in the elements a lot. He couldn’t risk public transportation, even with the hair dye and the dark shades he wasn’t exactly a forgettable figure. He’d tried to limit human contact as much as possible. He’d jacked a couple of cars along the way, but it was a risky activity and he’d had to dump them pretty quickly. And made him feel pretty guilty. So mostly, he’d walked.

He’d initially strapped Damian to his back, but not being able to see the baby and worrying about how exposed he was had made him switch to his front. The stray slash of a blade during his earlier fight had put an end to his makeshift papoose. He now had to carry Damian in his arms and they were _aching_.

Jason didn’t exactly have experience with babies. He’d rescued a few in his Robin days but he’d never been responsible for the long term care of one. Most of what he’d been doing had been learned from an early childcare textbook he’d lifted from some caffeine deficient freshman in Madrid. Spanish wasn’t his first language but he had a fairly good handle on it from before. Googling wasn’t an option when he’d have to sign in to any device he came across and leave a digital footprint.

He wasn’t even a hundred percent sure how old Damian was, but judging by the amount of teeth he had he was probably less than a year old. The textbook recommended starting solid foods at six months, so Jason had spooned a lot of jars of baby food into Damian’s unwilling mouth. It had been a bit of a nightmare, given Damian’s sensitive gums but all in all he reckoned he’d done ok. The kid hadn’t suffered too much that he could tell. He slept a lot, but that was normal for babies. Right?

He’d been asleep since their escape at the docks. Clearly his parent’s son, Damian had been largely unbothered by the violent scene unfolding before him. Jason had initially intended only to incapacitate, stupid and all as that sounded. But a pile of dead assassins in Gotham would draw Batman’s attention a lot faster than a report of a fight at the docks. Then one of them had nearly cut Damian and the next thing Jason knew, he was surrounded by bodies and the GCPD siren was getting louder. Jason hadn’t bothered to check for pulses.

He’d ended up running most of the way to Bristol. His endurance training as Robin had been intense and it had been ramped up to an eleven in the League, but the past month had taken it to a whole new level. He had gone with virtually no sleep and ate only intermittently, maintaining an almost constant pace to get him here. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

Jason had approached the Manor from the east side, cutting through neighbouring land to avoid taking the main road up as much as possible. The drive was a mile long, totally exposed and rigged with sensors. Obviously a no go area. He’d managed to distract the sensors long enough to flip over a lower section of the wall. Not a particularly stylish manoeuvre, but Damian had thrown off his centre of gravity and he was lucky to make the landing. And luckier still that he hadn’t dropped the baby.

Ears pricked, he began creeping carefully across the lawn, doing his best to keep to the camera’s blind spots. There was some shelter from various trees and bushes but he also knew there had been infrared cameras installed in his day. So for all he knew someone was having a good laugh watching him on the monitors. But then again, he thought darkly, a lot of things had changed in his absence.

He scanned the horizon from his current awkward crouch behind a large shrub and felt himself freeze. There was a faint pinprick of light moving slowly along the long, winding drive. It looked like a single headlight. Panic seized him. It couldn’t be the League. A full frontal assault wasn’t their style. But if they’d managed to track him...

The green was creeping in towards the edges of his vision and he fought to regain control. Before, a panic attack would have meant possibly accidentally striking someone. Now, with nearly fifty extra pounds of weight and two years worth of lethal training it meant death for anyone who came near. And Damian was extremely near.

He took a deep breath. Climbing was a no go when he didn’t have Damian secured. All the windows would be triple locked and alarmed anyway. He could try the kitchen entrance, but he ran the risk of facing Alfred’s shotgun and the state that he was in already, being faced with a firearm could send him completely off the deep end. That left only the front door. Unlikely they’d answer it without checking who he was first, but needs must.

He suddenly felt very small once more. As if he were that underweight twelve year old Bruce Wayne had taken in so long ago. It was weird to remember he’d once had keys to this place and could come and go as he wanted. Now he’d be lucky if they let him cross the threshold. The nausea began to rise again. Strengthening his resolve, he pushed the doorbell. The familiar echoing chimes could just about be heard through the thick oak. He braced himself.

What felt like eons but was probably less than two minutes later, the door swung open. A girl of about fourteen stood there, mouth agape. She had long blond hair and wore lurid purple pyjamas.

“Uh...you’re not the pizza guy.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the timeline for this fic is pretty messy. I screwed around a lot with ages and my internal maths are probably going to be way off, but basically;  
> Bruce is 36  
> Dick is 23  
> Jason is 18  
> Stephanie is 14  
> Tim is 13  
> Damian is 10 months  
> Alfred is immortal (screw you DC)

They just stared at each other for a moment. 

She certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. He hadn’t heard of Bruce picking up any more kids, but she was a little too at home (answering the door and all) for him to think she was a guest. 

“Who the hell are you?” The accusation in her tone was unmistakable. 

He watched as she shifted minutely into a fighting stance. Looks like he wasn’t the only birdie who’d been replaced, he thought grimly.

“That’s not important. I’m here because I know Bruce Wayne is Batman-“

Her eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed again. Her hands went to her hips and she let out a loud scoff to cut him off.

“Suuuuurrrreee he is. And the Commissioner’s Two Face! Now, you’ve got ‘til the count of ten. Mr Wayne’s not super fond of weirdos showing up unannounced and I’d hate to have to release the hounds on you.”

She would too, he decided, assessing her. He was impressed, despite himself. She was a pretty convincing liar and she didn’t seem afraid of him. Of course, she couldn’t see the sword he had strapped to his back from where she was standing.

“Look kid-“

“ALFREEEEEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD! THERE’S ANOTHER CONSPIRACY NUT ON THE FRONT PORCH!”

Jesus, the kid had a screech that could put Black Canary to shame. She tried to slam the door but he stopped it with his free hand, accidentally jolting Damian in the process. He poked his tiny head out of his blanket nest blearily and Blondie screeched again.

“Miss Stephanie-“

Alfred appeared, as he always did, silently and without warning. Jason would bet he had his old Lee Enfield tucked just out of the line of sight. He had a firm grip on Blondie’s shoulder and was trying to gently push her behind him. The look of cold fury on his face was gutting.

“Sir, if you don’t remove yourself from the property within the next five seconds I will have no choice but to-“

“Alfred, it’s me! It’s Jason!”

It took a lot to shock the stoic old man who’d been the closest thing to a grandfather he’d ever known. But he supposed a dead kid showing up with a baby on your doorstep would do that. His eyes roved Jason’s face and there was an obvious spark of recognition. He stumbled a little, leaning heavily against the door.

“Jason?” He croaked out. 

Jason felt himself nod and swiped at his wet cheek, mortified. 

“Hiya Alfie. Special delivery.”

Blond-Stephanie was looking back and forth between them like she was watching a particularly vigorous tennis match.

“Alfred, do you know-“ 

Alfred hushed her, stepping forward, as if to get a better look. He pressed a hand to his chest when he spotted Damian and Jason briefly worried the shock might be too much for him. 

“I...my dear boy, how did you- and who is-?“

“This is Damian, I have to-“

He tried to hand Damian over to Alfred, but found himself being steered inside instead.

“Come in my dear boy, out of the cold. We’ll have to alert the others. Stephanie go fetch Master Timothy and have him call Master Bruce. And Master Dick. Tell them it’s urgent.”  
Stephanie did as she was told, disappearing down one of the side corridors, before Jason could call her back. 

“Come, we’ll use the family parlour.”

Alfred turned on heel to lead the way but was immediately interrupted by another knock on the door. Both of them stiffened. Alfred tried to shoo Jason down the corridor, pointing to an open door on the left hand side. Jason shook his head, instead pressing himself against the wall, out of sight for whoever was at the door. Carefully placing Damian on the floor, he reached back to get a grip on his blade, then nodded at Alfred to answer.

“Uh, I have a Meat Feast Deluxe with extra pepperoni for a Stephanie?”

Alfred withdrew a wad of cash from somewhere and took the pizza, no doubt way over tipping. He gently closed the door behind him, letting out a deep sigh of relief. He exchanged a wry glance with Jason.

“I’d best go plate this up, why don’t you make yourselves comfortable?”

He glanced pointedly at Damian as he said that, an eyebrow raised. He had questions obviously, but Jason demurred. 

“Wait, could you uh- do you have any applesauce or anything? Even mashed potatoes would do, it’s just time for Damian’s feed-“

“Say no more.”

He bustled off then, professional mask slipping back into place. 

Jason struggled to keep his cool. He hadn’t anticipated having to hang around. He’d envisioned Bruce opening the door. He’d have been able to just dump Damian and run then. He didn’t owe Bruce any explanations, but Alfred...

He’d been wary of Alfred at first. The butlers he knew were snooty guys in suits who’d get mad if you showed up unannounced. And they were always the murderers in the old mysteries he and Mom read. But Alfred was kind. He wasn’t stuck up or snooty, not really. He had a thing about manners and meals and bedtimes, but he let Jason do his homework in the kitchen and wouldn’t get mad if he caught him licking his plate or slurping the milk at the bottom of the cereal bowl. And he knew lots of cool stuff about books and cooking and weapons. Sometimes he told Jason embarrassing stories about Bruce as a kid. He’d been the first adult Jason had ever known who hadn’t wanted anything from him but for him to be himself. 

Sighing, he walked into the room Alfred had indicated, pausing for a second to take it all in.  
It wasn’t familiar to Jason. As a kid, he’d divided his upstairs time mainly between the kitchen and the library. There wasn’t much call for a family parlour when most of the family weren’t around. It was a well used room, with a number of blankets and cushions dotted about on expensive but comfortable looking sofas and armchairs. A half finished book report lay on the glass coffee table and several photos dotted the mantle.

He lowered himself carefully onto the largest of the couches. Damian let out a little whimper in his arms, confused and still a little groggy. Jason cooed softly in response, murmuring in Farsi that everything was going to be alright. He had been trying to speak English to the baby too to help prepare him for living in the Manor, but he hadn’t had a lot of opportunity to practise. 

Whether it actually was ok or not, he didn’t know. Now that he had a second alone to think quietly, something seemed off. Nothing about this trip had gone smoothly and the Pit murmured that it had been too easy to gain access to the Manor. Alfred had been too accepting.   
They could be luring him into a trap. Maybe Talia had got here ahead of time and used body doubles. Or maybe they just thought he was insane and they were humouring him. Alfred could have gone and called the police or Stephanie could have gone to get drugs to sedate him. Maybe Batman was downstairs calling Arkham Asylum ahead of time to have them ready a cell next door to-

He jolted as the door swung open and Blondie marched in, glaring at him. It was obvious she didn’t trust him. Smart kid. She didn’t have any obvious syringes on her. She probably didn’t want to risk him hurting the baby.

She held the door open after her and he struggled to maintain a neutral expression as a dark haired, blue eyed boy shuffled in on crutches. Him, he recognised. Ra’s had mentioned Timothy Drake more than once. The kid stared openly, eyes widening when they fixed first on the bundle in Jason’s arms and then on Jason himself. Stephanie nudged him, nodding significantly.

“Holy crap, he really does look like him!” He squeaked. Stephanie rolled her eyes.

"I told you." She said sniffily, crossing her arms.

Jason assumed that they had been comparing Damian to Bruce. It wasn’t likely they recognised Jason, who neither of them had ever met. 

The Jason of now bore little resemblance to the dead kid who’d lived here. His skin was darker, burned from constant exposure to the sun on the road and on Infinity Island. He was a foot taller and much broader and muscled than the malnourished Crime Alley kid had ever dreamed of becoming. Even his eyes were different. The cornflower blues that he had shared with Sheila Haywood were replaced by that terrifying iridescent green that tainted Jason’s every waking nightmare.

“Language, Master Timothy.” Alfred’s reprimand was a familiar one. He'd glided in silently, evidently having heard them from the corridor. Stephanie sniggered as Timothy blushed and murmured a "Sorry, Alfred."

Jason felt his lips twitch. In his early days at the Manor he’d often joked that he’d paid for the Maserati with the contents of the swear jar.

Alfred set down the heavily laden tray delicately. The slices of pizza had been arranged artfully on several plates. There was a large saucer filled with apple sauce for Damian and several cans of soda. It wasn’t normally the kind of food Alfred allowed his charges to have and the eagerness with which Stephanie took her plate reflected that. Timothy seemed less enthusiastic, but that was probably because his attention was elsewhere.

“So how-“

“I’m sure the questions can wait until after Master Wayne arrives, Master Timothy. You should eat up now, before your food gets cold.”

Chastened, Timothy picked up a slice of pizza and started nibbling it. Stephanie, having already finished her share, was eyeing the other pieces on his plate.

Jason coughed awkwardly, grateful for Alfred’s stalling. He still had no idea how he was going to explain everything. It wasn’t like anyone here would accept the Cliffnotes version of the last few years of his life. Coming back from the dead wasn’t as rare as it used to be, but Jason wasn’t a meta or an alien. There wasn’t really any explanation for his return to life.

He picked up the small tureen of apple sauce and a silver teaspoon to begin feeding Damian. The kid wolfed it down; obviously another fervent lover of Alfred’s cooking. He tried reaching for the spoon but Jason knew better than to let him try and feed himself. Last time he’d tried that he’d gotten mushed up carrots in his eyes. Damian let out an irritated little huff but allowed Jason to continue feeding him.

“So, you called...?” He let his voice trail off, setting the empty bowl on the table. Damian let out an indignant squawk and tried to reach for it but Jason started gently bouncing him on his knee to distract him. The other two were watching him like he was an exhibit in the zoo. No doubt they were expecting him to go berserk on them at any moment. Timothy probably had a sheath of batarangs in the pocket of his Pikachu onesie.

“Timothy has informed Master Wayne of the situation at hand. He is on his way.”

“Right. I don’t suppose you know how long he’ll be?” Jason winced at the note of anxiety that crept into his voice. 

Every moment he stayed still the closer the League got and he needed to divert them away from Damian as soon as possible.

“He’s said about ten minutes. Five if uh...” Timothy turned red when Jason looked at him and stopped talking abruptly.

He looked anxious. It was absurd to feel hurt, Jason told himself. This was the kid who’d stolen his life. He’d been in the exclusive top three of Jason’s revenge list. He’d had extremely detailed plans on how he was going to punish his usurper, how he was going to prove him an unworthy successor to Jason’s mantle. He’d had to scrap all that though. It wouldn’t really set a good tone for Damian’s welcome into the family.

That and actually seeing the new Boy (and Girl? What was Stephanie’s role in all this?) Wonder made him realise how young the kid was. Roughly the same age as Jason had been when he’d donned the ugly green pixie boots. He was maybe slightly taller than Jason had been then too, though that wasn’t saying much. And with his cartoony clothes and broken leg he looked incredibly vulnerable. And only a monster would want to hurt a vulnerable little kid. A monster like him. Guilt churned in his gut.

He didn’t truly deserve this kind of welcome home from Alfred, or anyone really. The child they’d known had died in Ethiopia. Jason was just what crawled out of his grave.

He fought the urge to just get up and leave. He wasn’t used to being around people who (supposedly) didn’t want him dead long term. It made him antsy. Not to mention he was seriously wasting time here. He’d already proven how easy it was to gain entry to the Manor. He felt his eyes dart about the room every few minutes to note another vulnerability or unguarded point of access. 

It would probably be better to discuss all this in the Cave, but Jason knew how Alfred loathed spending more time than he had to down there. Plus the lack of actual weapons to hand would probably be better, given how on edge he was already.

Eventually, the sound of heavy feet pounding on polished wooden floors echoed through the halls and Jason braced himself to come face to face with his former mentor.

Batman had aged. He had more lines, more grey hairs. He was still as tall as ever, but Jason would be eye to eye with him now. 

He’d yanked on sweatpants that were a couple of inches too short and an ancient t-shirt with lettering too faded to make out. His feet were bare and his hair was flattened in the way that made it look as if he’d just woken from a nap. Of course, he’d actually just removed his cowl. But the image he presented, half dazed and wary standing in the doorway reminded Jason of a time long ago. A time when a little boy with nightmares would call and his Dad would come running to comfort him.

Jason swallowed hard, ruthlessly suppressing the memories. This was not the time or place. And he wasn’t that boy. He rose, a little unsteadily, adjusting his grip on Damian.

“Hello Bruce. Meet your son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love a good cliffhanger.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for their lovely comments! Hope you enjoy!

For the World’s Greatest Detective, Bruce sure was slow on the uptake. He simply stood in the doorway, unmoving in the face of Jason’s pronouncement. The only sign that he might have registered what was going on was the white knuckled grip he had on the doorframe. Jason almost felt awkward, especially since nobody else was saying anything. He cleared his throat.

“Look, I-“

“Jason.” Bruce’s tone was flat and emotionless. 

He still didn’t move. Jason fought the ridiculous wave of disappointment at the lack of reaction. It had been a surprise that Alfred had recognised him, but he’d half expected it of Bruce. He’d trained to memorise faces, to recognise details. Jason would have been at least a little offended if he hadn’t realised that the face staring back at him was the same one he’d seen every morning over his copy of the Gotham Gazette for three years.

The recognition didn’t seem to matter. Bruce simply stared, stone-faced in the doorway. Bruce had never been demonstrative anyway, but surely his dead...associate materialising after two years merited something. Questions, accusations, threats... 

But it wasn’t like Jason cared. Obviously. He hated Bruce.

“Yes. And this is Damian.”

Jason was aware his tone was clipped but he didn’t have it in him to go with the soft approach. Especially for a man who clearly wished he’d stayed dead.

“Damian.” Bruce repeated slowly, eyes sliding briefly to the baby’s face. 

Jason felt a brief tinge of alarm. Bruce was acting like he was concussed. Or maybe he’d been gassed? Had something happened on Mount Justice?  
Bruce walked towards him, frowning. Jason fought the urge to step back. Surely they would have broken out the Batcuffs already if they knew about his involvement with the League.

“You’re tall.” Bruce said faintly, when they came face to face. 

Everybody else in the room appeared to be holding their breath. The Bats weren’t a chatty group by design but Jason was seriously unnerved by the silence. His eyes flicked toward Stephanie who at least seemed to share the same level of incredulousness at Bruce’s state. Her brows were furrowed and she went to whisper something to Timothy but saw him staring and resumed a more neutral expression. He obviously couldn’t count on her for help.

“You weren't ever tall.” Bruce said suddenly. His eyebrows creased minutely. He cocked his head to one side, looking like a sleepwalker slowly emerging from a trance. It was creepy.

Damian, apparently bored of the staring match and Bruce’s lack lustre observations, let out a little whine. Jason set him gently on the couch where he immediately started chewing on the tassels of one of the cushions.

“Yeah well I guess all those growth hormones you had me on finally kicked in.” Jason said drily. Or what he hoped was drily. It came out as more of a raspy whisper. 

He jolted when Bruce’s hand came up and touched his face, thumb stroking over the silvery scar that bisected his eyebrow. Jason didn’t need to look at his autopsy photos to remember where that particular mark came from. He could still feel the warm steel of the crowbar, slick with his blood as it slashed through his domino and tore through skin. Bruce recognised him now. Had he been able to recognise the remnants of the child when he’d seen the corpse?

Maybe so. Bruce’s face had gone white and he withdrew his hand as if it burned him.

“Jason?” He whispered, stepping back, his voice wavering. 

Words were beyond him in the moment. Jason nodded.

Bruce swayed, arm frantically reaching for the back of the couch. Jason found himself surging forward without thinking, Bruce’s name on his lips. He managed to grab him before he hit the floor but it was a near miss. He didn’t even hear the others shouting until they were suddenly crowded around him. His ears were ringing. For a second, a split second, he’d been Robin, watching Batman go down. And he’d jumped to his aid the way a good sidekick should.

Except he wasn’t a sidekick anymore. Jason was no one’s lackey, no one’s son. He was an adult now, he’d lived a whole lifetime without Bruce. He wasn’t answerable to the man who’d forgotten and replaced him. He let go of the older man abruptly, disgusted with himself and dropped him onto the couch.

“...the smelling salts Miss Stephanie. Master Timothy if you could prepare him-“

“No.” Bruce waved away Alfred’s concern.

As if he hadn’t just collapsed in the middle of the sitting room. Truth be told, Alfred looked more like he needed the smelling salts for himself. Jason worried again what all this shock could do to him. Alfred was getting on and even he could only take so much.

Bruce didn’t seem to notice. For once, Jason had Bruce’s sole focus and attention. His eyes seemed to devour Jason in their desperation. 

“How...Jason?” Bruce’s voice broke. 

Jason was horrified to see the steely blue eyes fill with tears. He reached out a hand to grab Jason’s own, but Jason drew back, almost pressed against the fireplace. His ears were still ringing. No. They were buzzing, humming even. The Pit was gaining control, gaining volume.

Bruce said something, reaching again, but Jason backed up further. The sharp taste of blood filled his mouth and he could smell burning. 

A large hand grabbed his arm and without thinking, he wrenched himself out of its grip and he shoved as hard as he could.

Bruce flew ten feet across the floor, smashing into the coffee table and sending the plates and undrunk soda cans crashing to the ground. One of them burst open, fizzing furiously and leaking onto the rug. Jason’s chest heaved as if he’d just run a marathon.

“You...don’t...touch...me.” He panted, his breath coming out as ragged gasps.

Stephanie and Alfred helped Bruce to his feet, the former staring at him wide eyed. Quite the spectacle to see the Dark Knight flung about like a rag doll by some crazy zombie, he thought savagely.

Bruce stepped slowly towards him, arms raised in the universal gesture for “I come in peace”. Jason didn’t trust him and edged further away.

“Your legs were burning.” Bruce said quietly.

He gestured to the smoking holes the heat of the fake fire had burned into Jason’s sweatpants. He only registered the pain then. The skin on the back of his legs was already prickling and itching, trying to scab over and heal. Talia had assured him his advanced healing capabilities wouldn’t last forever, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful for at least one thing the Pit had done for him.

Embarrassed and still struggling to regain control, he moved towards the side of the couch, putting it between him and the others. Damian, proving himself a severely bad judge of character; reached up looking for Jason to pick him up again. Jason ignored him.

“You don’t touch me. Ever. Especially not-“He cut himself off and took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Look, I’m here for one reason and that’s Damian. He’s yours and Talia’s son-“

“Talia Al Ghul?” Timothy blurted from where he was ensconced in an overstuffed armchair. Jason had almost forgotten about him in all the commotion. Timothy looked at Bruce accusingly. Bruce ignored him. There was a story there. Jason bit back the sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue and ploughed on.

“-like I said, he’s you guys’s kid. I found out about him, took him and brought him here.”

To Jason’s surprise, Bruce didn’t immediately try to deny it. His mouth opened and then closed several times. Damian sneezed and Bruce’s gaze snapped to him.

He was looking at Damian as if he’d never seen a baby before. He hesitantly reached out for Damian to come to him. Damian, perhaps sensing that Jason wasn’t going to give him the cuddles he wanted anytime soon, crawled over the couch cushion into Bruce’s lap. He then glanced back as if to see if Jason was watching and threw himself against Bruce’s chest. He giggled, then looked back at Jason again. Manipulative little shit was trying to make him jealous, Jason realised and was struck with a wave of fondness. 

It was hard with most babies to see resemblances. Not so with Damian. He had Talia’s bright green eyes, but for those and his skin tone he could have been a mini Bruce. The dark hair was the same shade; he had Martha’s nose and Thomas’s ears. He had that all too rare Bruce smile (minus a dozen or so teeth), which he was showing off now. Bruce silently traced the baby’s face with a large calloused finger, as if committing each already familiar feature to memory.

It was an extraordinarily intimate moment, made only more so by the look of sheer wonder on Bruce’s face. Jason knew from Dick’s hurled accusations and from picking up on context clues in his early days that Bruce had never planned on having children. And while part of Jason argued that he had picked up child soldiers rather than children, seeing him now, he couldn’t help but wonder...

“I, we’ll need to run tests.” Stirring from his reverie, Bruce rose, carefully cradling Damian. The others followed suit. Bruce glanced back at Jason, wariness and something else Jason refused to identify in his eyes. Jason shrugged. 

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” 

He felt drained all of a sudden. Perhaps the adrenaline was wearing off or maybe it was the accompanying fatigue that always followed a Pit attack, but he didn’t feel up for another fight. Not now.

Bruce nodded decisively and led their strange little party into his office. As he fiddled with the clock hands, Jason felt uneasy. He wasn’t fond of underground spaces – the horrors of having to claw your way out of your own grave had only been exacerbated by the dark cavern of the Pit, where to his mind, drowning would have been a sweet release.

Timothy of course, couldn’t manage to take the stairs in his condition and Bruce wasn’t about to put Damian down to carry him any time soon, so he’d opted for the elevator. Jason thought perhaps there had been a flash of something in the kid’s expression when Bruce had proceeded directly down the steps without looking back. The Pit whispered that it served the little usurper right, see how he liked being replaced. But something niggled at him, the image of the small, injured boy, going down into the darkness alone.

Whatever. Not his problem.

Alfred had procured the syringes and other necessary equipment, all of it laid out neatly. Jason tried not to let his mounting unease show. He trusted Alfred, he did. But he also remembered another stainless steel table covered with medical instruments. Ones used to pry the secrets of rebirth from a scared little boy who couldn’t call for help. And whose cries wouldn’t have been answered.

He sat stoically and tried not to wince when Damian let out a wail at being pricked. Bruce tried to soothe him, but the baby is over tired and fed up of strangers holding and poking at him. He reached insistently for Jason. Jason took him.

The look of hurt on Bruce’s face was ridiculous. It shouldn’t have had Jason wanting to explain, to remind him that it was only because Damian knew Jason. That the baby wanted familiarity. But Jason bit his tongue. Bruce’s feelings were not his problem. 

Still, he walked Damian in slow circles around the medical bay, in Bruce’s clear line of vision, gently rubbing his back. Bruce hadn’t powered up the lights for the rest of the Cave for some reason, so it’s either this or stumbling around under the glow of the Batcomputer. He hummed under his breath, too self conscious to sing as he normally would have.   
It was only when Damian’s breath evened out and he felt limp in Jason’s arms that Jason passed him back over to Bruce. The computer was slow, processing the hundreds, possibly thousands of factors it knew how to recognise. It needed to be thorough. This wasn’t a standard DNA test after all. Bruce wasn’t just checking to see if they were who Jason said they were. Batman was checking them for unknown threats that could be living within them.

“I’m gonna hit the showers.” He said quietly. If he had to stay here while the tests completed he might as well use the time effectively. Bruce looked at him hesitantly, but nodded.

The scalding hot water was murder on his already tender legs, but Jason was a master at pain compartmentalisation by now. Hot water was not a luxury afforded to him in the League. Not that he’d cared much then, cold water showers had been preferable in the desert and the Caribbean. After nearly a week of the freezing cold conditions along the New England coast though, the heat felt incredible.

He eyed himself in the mirror. He’d always expected to be recognised in some fashion by Bruce at least, but he couldn’t deny he didn’t look much like he had before. He ran a hand over his heavily stubbled jaw. The dark scruff didn’t match the semi faded brown he’d dyed his hair weeks ago. His roots were already showing. He’d dyed his hair in a desperate attempt at being less noticeable. His appearance was distinctive enough as it was, the last thing he needed was for the League to be able to pin him down because of his stupid hair.

The bigger frame and glow in the dark eyes weren’t the only things the Pit had left him with. There, just where the hair would curl over his forehead, was a barely visible streak of white. Jason had teased Bruce and Alfred in his time as a kid about going grey. He’d figured his time was way off in the future. Now though, no matter what he did, the streak stubbornly returned, reminding him of the life cut short. Of the boy who’d never grown old.

The assassins had been a superstitious lot. They’d whispered about the strange American who’d gained the patronage of the daughter of the Demon’s Head, his mysterious origins, his strange hair. A mark of death, they murmured. A mark of The Pit.

That would stand to his benefit now, he thought, picking up a set of electric shears from their holder and making quick work of the almost beard. He turned next to the damp dirty brown curls, buzzing them off to expose the mostly black roots. It was shorter than he normally kept it, but the white streak was visible and that was what mattered.

Someone (he suspected Alfred) had laid out clothes by the lockers. Part of him rebelled at the idea of donning what were obviously Bruce’s clothes, but he had to be practical. His own clothes were filthy and Alfred or whoever had already whisked them away. 

It jarred him a little to realise the clothes almost fit. A little wide in the shoulders maybe, an inch too long in the leg. But he was more or less the same size as Batman.

When he emerged, the Batcomputer was flashing, alternating back and forth between his and Damian’s results. Bruce, still cradling the sleeping Damian was talking quietly with Timothy. Timothy didn’t appear too interested in what Bruce had to say, too busy typing on his own computer. Stephanie had clearly gotten bored and was cart wheeling around the sparring mats.

Both Bruce and Timothy looked up when he approached. Stephanie stopped cartwheeling.

“Talia brought you back via the Lazarus Pit.” 

Bruce’s voice was low and gravelly. Jason glanced up, watching the screen as it broke down his genetic components. 99% Jason Todd. Weird. He figured it had changed more of him. He certainly didn’t feel any connection to the smiling boy whose picture accompanied the results.

“No.”

“No?”

“Talia put me in the Pit, but I wasn’t dead. Not then anyway.”

He might have been giving too much away. He wasn’t over eager to give Bruce more information than he needed. But Talia didn’t deserve to have Bruce think of her as some random psychopath who’d stolen a child’s dead body. She had her faults, but she had saved him. Bruce’s jaw clenched. It obviously didn’t make much of a difference for him. Timothy just looked perplexed.

“Wha-how did you-I mean-“

“I don’t know. I don’t remember much.” 

A lie. He remembered enough. Remembered the screaming for his Dad, the pounding and the bleeding fingers, scraped to the bone. He could still taste the earth as it filled his mouth, choking him. Smell the ozone in the air and feel the rain as it soaked through the ruined suit he-

“Talia found you. After, you...”

He shrugged, jerkily. 

“She knew. All this time, she kept you from me. Even when I...”

Jason laughed darkly.

“Yeah well, I guess she didn’t want to bring up the fact that your undead sidekick was part of her dear old Dad’s cult during your booty call.” 

Timothy’s ears went bright red. Jason almost rolled his eyes. The kid was like, fourteen. He’d heard worse.

“Jason-“Bruce began, something akin to an edge in his voice. 

Jason lost the slippery grip he’d had on his control. He’d been trying to reign himself in after upstairs, but this was too much. No way was Bruce trying to take an attitude with him. Not after everything he’d done.

“Don’t fuckin’ Jason me. Not when you replaced me three months after I died.”

“I’m not-!” Timothy squeaked.

“Shut the fuck up Replacement.” Jason snarled. Bruce stood, half shielding the kid.

“This isn’t about Tim. “He said sternly. Jason sneered at him.

“Well isn’t that precious. Now you wanna protect your little Robins. Musta just been me then. Scummy little street rat kid gets blown up no big deal right? But betcha anythin’ anyone comes after little Drake Industries here or God forbid, Dickiebird they don’t waltz in ‘n’ outta Arkham like they own the goddamn place!”

“Y’know I never trusted anyone B, not ever, like I trusted you. I woulda done anything, anythin’ – fuck if it’d been you? There’d have bin nowhere on earth that he coulda hid. I woulda destroyed ‘im, left nothin’ behind-“

“Jason, you don’t understand-“

“No Bruce, you don’t understand! You and all your fucked up little rules. You think you c’n fix things, make Gotham better with your antiquated moral code? Fuck you! ‘S too late for those two-”

He gestured broadly to the white faced Tim and Stephanie. The leaned in and spoke lowly, just for Bruce’s benefit;

“But anythin’ happens to ‘em, to Damian, I ever catch you put ‘nother kid in the cape and tights you’ll wish I pulled the trigger on that bomb I planted on the Batmobile.”

The roar of an arriving motor cycle filled the silence. The garage entrance lights clicked on and a figure in a blue helmet rode in, dismounting with an enviable (and all too familiar) grace. The rider quickly unsnapped the straps and threw the helmet to one side, jogging up to the main platform.

“This better be important B, I broke like 50 speed limits to get –“ He froze at the base of the steps, reading the room.

“Whoa, is this DEFCON 1 or what? Who’s that?” He jerked his thumb at Jason, addressing Bruce. 

“He’s-“

“Leaving.” Jason said shortly, pushing past the first Boy Wonder and striding straight for the garage. He mounted one of the unattended bikes and kicked off, driving straight through the open door.

No one stopped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love a boy who loves a dramatic exit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Ok, so I've added the tags for this chapter. I don't think the blood and injury description is too graphic, but it is referenced a bit. As for the suicidal thoughts, it's more situational and tied up with feelings of worthlessness. It's very vaguely referenced but will probably be explored again in later chapters, just as a psa. Anyone looking to skip stop reading at; "She pointed out sulkily." and start again at "Where the hell is Batman anyway"  
> I hope you enjoy and a major thanks to everyone who's commented so far!

The logical part of Jason reminded him that he ought to be driving away from the city. The whole point was to keep Talia and the League on his tail for as long as possible. To convince them he still had Damian or that he’d ditched him somewhere other than Wayne Manor.

But logic had taken a firm back seat to The Pit. The Pit wanted blood and in Jason’s subconscious he knew that he’d find it in Gotham proper.

Gotham had changed little in his absence. The smog still hung in a thick haze like a shroud over the city. Abandoned warehouses and derelict factories still numbered in the dozens. At this hour, the only ones patrolling the streets were the working girls and drug dealers. No GCPD cop ever strayed out of their precinct past sundown if they could help it.

He was sure up on the rooftops there was a dim glow from the few working street lights that softened the sharpest of the cities edges. But Jason had fallen too far to see the strange beauty in the city that had inspired him to protect it so long ago.

He’d arrived at Crime Alley without realising it. If he stood back and tilted his head, he could probably see the windows of the tiny, damp apartment he’d once shared with Mom and Willis. The water hadn’t been potable and the electricity was off more than it was on, but it had been home. The place where he’d taken his first steps, his first beating, watched his Mom die in his arms...

He gritted his teeth. If good memories had been rare in Wayne Manor, they were almost non-existent here.

He ditched the bike in a side alley. No matter where he left it, it wouldn’t be there when he returned. If you were stupid enough to leave something of value unattended in _Crime Alley_ , you paid the price. Batman had found that out for himself, five years ago.

For a brief second he was taken back to that night. He could feel the aches in his swollen fingers, smell the rotting garbage, hear the weirdly out of place laughter as he tried to get a better grip on his tire iron. He could see Batman, larger than life, looming over him. See him switching abruptly from the Dark Knight to concerned adult. The burger he’d gotten him was still the best thing Jason had ever tasted.

He hated it. Hated that coming back here to this city, _his_ city had him remembering. Had him feeling things again. The boy who’d taken to the skies and been Batman’s right hand had been nothing but feelings. It had been Batman’s constant refrain. In the litany of complaints he had against Jason, top of the list (right above “why can’t you be Dick Grayson”) was that he was too emotional. He led with his heart and his gut, he was too reckless, he was going to get himself _killed-_

The League had done their best to finish what Batman had begun, to make him a soulless, mindless machine. Ra’s had made Bruce seem positively liberated by comparison. He had learned the lesson, but it hadn’t worked, not exactly. He couldn’t detach himself from feeling. Instead, it was a pure, unadulterated rage that fuelled him, rather than a desire to help. Robin’s bleeding heart had gotten him blown up after all.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t want to help. Help the people of Gotham, liberate them as Batman had always been too afraid to do. He had wanted to start by destroying their so called hero and proving them no worse for his absence. He would have cleansed the city with blood, have it born anew as he had been. He had come back stronger, why couldn’t Gotham?

But perhaps, that insistent tiny voice that lived in his brain reminded him. Perhaps, that was the Pit talking. Maybe he didn’t want Batman dead. Maybe, a part of him longed to be taken back, to reverse time so he’d never been hurt, never been abandoned to die. Maybe he just wanted someone to love and want him, not for what he could do or for the boy he had been, but for the man he’d become.

It hurt to admit. He wasn’t the naive fifteen year old boy anymore. He couldn’t go back and Batman wouldn’t accept a murderer into his little band of heroes. Bruce wouldn’t want a killer in his family. No one had chased after him, no one had called him back.

The only ones coming for him were those who wanted to kill him. Jason himself was worthless, of no use without something to protect.

“Well, well, well and I thought this would be difficult.”

Jason would have never admitted to the prickle of fear at hearing her voice. He forced his posture to appear relaxed, knowing she wouldn’t buy it. Her ability to read people was unparalleled, one of the many reasons she’d risen so high in her service to the League of Shadows.

“Shiva. Ra’s must be getting desperate.”

“Stealing his grandson and heir is not something the Demon’s Head takes lightly.”

She launched herself at him and he ducked, darting for the nearest fire escape.

Whatever his current feelings about Batman were, Gotham had always been _Jason’s_ territory. He knew it better than anyone, from the alleyways...to the rooftops. Granted, he’d probably lose her sooner if he just wove through the maze of cramped back streets, but she wouldn’t be picky about bystanders. And Jason of all people knew the kind of bystanders most likely to be found around Park Row. He wouldn’t mind one or two of Black Mask’s goons taking a hit, but there were kids down here.

He scrambled upwards. The rusted iron groaned as it never had before. For a brief second he worried about steps collapsing or bars breaking away from the wall.

Dick Grayson had not been a very present figure in Jason’s life. He’d not been interested in the role of big brother and barely deigned to acknowledge Jason as Robin most of the time. But there had been one tense patrol where he’d accompanied Batman and Robin and Jason’s grapple had misfired.

Dick had snagged him out of the air, swooping in at the last second to prevent Jason from becoming a spot of grease on the pavement. Jason had tried to shake him off, embarrassed that _Nightwing_ of all people had had to save him. But Dick hadn’t let go. He’d clutched him to his chest, trembling all over. It took several minutes for Jason to realise he was having a panic attack, remembering a time so long ago when he hadn’t been able to swoop in and save the day. Batman had spoken to Dick, soothed him somehow, but Jason had never forgotten that weightless feeling, nor the terror on the fearless Dick Grayson’s face.

Falling was not an option.

He leapt up the final set of steps, flattening himself to the surface of the poured concrete roof to dodge the knife Shiva had thrown. She followed him up, landing with a flip, far more gracefully than him.

He kicked out at her viciously, his boot narrowly missing her face before making a flying leap to the next building. Doing so without a grappling hook was difficult. Especially given he was less likely at his new weight to soar like a bird than he was to plummet to the concrete.

He stuck the landing, but she wasn’t far behind him. Her sword nicked his arm before he swung around to parry her next strike. Their blades clashed. He pressed down against her, leaning on his sword to drive her back. She broke the connection, rolling to one side and coming up just beside him. He scowled, just missing her again. Jason may have had her beat on strength, but no one could match Shiva for her agility and speed.

She sliced at him, this time hitting his ribs. Deeply. He swore, already feeling the hot rush of blood to the surface. The pain burned and he worried that her blade might be poisoned. He wouldn’t put it past her. He was lucky she hadn’t gotten her hands on the All Blades to take him down. She smirked. He was barely keeping up with her and she knew it. At this point the sword was slowing him down. He’d never exactly liked it as a weapon and despite all his training it would never be his defence of choice.

He chucked it to one side, dodging her again, free hand gripping his ribs. They felt hot. The burning shouldn’t be this intense, should it?

Shiva laughed.

“Giving up already, little bird? My, my what would Talia say about her little protégé now? Too bad she couldn’t be here to witness-“

He drew back his fist and hammered it into her face, grinning with sick satisfaction at the crunch of bone. Shiva may have perfected her artful kicks and fancy sword skills, but Jason had been a brawler since birth. Now he had the strength to back it up.

He struck again, hitting her in the stomach, winding her. She jerked back, teeth bared, playfulness gone. She spat out blood and threw herself at him with an unrivalled fury. He swung her off, landing another glancing blow to her stomach. She swept the legs from underneath him and he landed on his knees. She came at him again, sword raised like a Valkyrie about to strike him down.

Then missed, a blinding flash and instant roiling cloud of smoke stopping her in her tracks. Jason rolled, springing to his feet and throwing an arm up to cover his mouth. He’d always carried a rebreather as Robin, but at the moment his equipment ran only to the sword he’d ditched and his fists. Neither were much good against chemical warfare.

Shiva had gone ominously silent, which meant she was either listening for him or whoever had thrown the smoke bomb had somehow instantly incapacitated her. He went quiet himself. Sensory deprivation technically counted as torture, but it had been a useful part of his training. He’d become accustomed to shutting everything else out and just focusing on one sense at a time.

He did so now, shutting his already useless eyes and focusing only on what he could hear. Then ducked as he felt the incoming missile in his path. Shiva hissed, barely above a whisper, but it was enough. With a roar, he charged forward, tackling her to the flat of the roof. She clawed at him, then managed to flip them briefly before he used her momentum to roll them both over the edge.

He braced himself for the fall that never came. Something had snagged him. He blinked blearily, his eyes still streaming from the smoke.

“You...so...owe...me...for...this!”

Robin – Stephanie was hanging over the edge of the roof top having somehow snagged him with her grapple and was trying to haul him up. Her grapple wasn’t calibrated to his weight and since he reckoned he probably weighed as much as two Stephanies, she was doing most of the pulling herself.

He tried to get a grip on the wall behind him, to scramble up on his own, but the surface was too smooth and he was resigned to letting a fourteen year old girl reel him in like he was a fish on a hook.

“Jesus, what do they _feed_ you in the League?” She grunted as he reached the lip of the roof and she grabbed fistfuls of his jacket to help pull him up. She yelped when he immediately whirled to peer over the ledge, searching for Shiva. Or her hopefully mangled body.

There was no sign. A cold feeling crept over him.

“A thank you would be nice!” She snarked, scrambling to her feet and scowling down at him.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” He snarled, jumping up and looming over her. She seemed to waver a bit at his ferocity.

“Saving your butt, apparently.” She snapped back, but her voice wobbled.

“Do you have any idea what you were doing? That wasn’t some two bit criminal you just gassed, that was Lady Shiva – one of the League’s top assassins, you could have been killed!”

“ _You_ could have been killed.” She pointed out sulkily.

“That’s the whole point, dumbass! Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you think she’da found me if I didn’t want her to?”

That was admittedly bluster, but he had technically intended to be found. Just not so soon and definitely not in Gotham. Stephanie went snow white under her domino.

“What are you talking about?” She whispered, her voice horrified. The kid was cottoning on.

He wasn’t exactly up for explaining the intricacies of the nature of his suicidal mission to a teenager. So he ignored her question, scanning the sky.

“Where the hell is Batman anyway, y’can’ta ditched him that long ago.”

“He’s covering the bridges.”

“The bridges?”

“He figured you’d wanna get the hell outta town as soon as possible. He took the bridges, T’s covering them on the monitors. Nightwing took the harbour. If you hadn’ta disabled the tracker on the bike, we’da got here sooner.”

Her tone was definitely reproachful. Jason was being scolded by a teenage girl.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.” He gritted out.

“Tim. He’s like _obsessed_ with you. He knew you’d come here.”

“I meant, how come _you_ , a fourteen year old kid, are out alone in Gotham when The League of Shadows is on the loose!” He hissed.

Stephanie puffed up her chest and swung her hands back to land on her hips.

“Batman trusts me to take care of myself.” She said haughtily.

“The hell he does.” Jason snarled. Stephanie deflated slightly.

“I might’a snuck out.” She shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Means I don’t have to crush the old man’s skull for lettin’ you patrol Crime Alley at 2AM by yourself.”

“I can handle it! I know the city way better than he does!”

Jason paused, considering her.

“You from Crime Alley then?”

“The Narrows. Tim says you were from here.”

There wasn’t much between Crime Alley and The Bowery all things considered. Sure, Crime Alley had the reputation, but at least the residents of Arkham had never been his next door neighbours. As such, there was a mutual respect for anyone who came out of either part of the city. _Real_ Gotham.

He looked at her with new eyes. Jason had assumed, having not paid her much attention, she was another bored rich kid, like Timothy. But all the evidence was there. The accent for one. It was far from the even, rounded tones of Bristol. She had a lean, almost hungry look to her that reminded him of so many street kids he’d known. You couldn’t teach the kind of easy confidence she had in her squalid surroundings. Arrogance or confidence, it was hard to decide. But she was definitely reckless. And Narrows kid or not, she shouldn’t be here.

“I’m not that kid anymore. And I’m not safe for little birds to be around. Fly home, kid.”

His ribs fucking ached and he should probably see to them. The blood was oozing out slower, but they still hurt like nothing he’d felt in a while. His arm was starting to throb too. But then again, what was the point? Even if he made it out of Gotham he didn’t exactly have a long, luxurious life ahead of him. Certainly not one where he could afford to worry about injuries.

His biggest regret was that he wouldn’t be there to witness the light die in the Joker’s eyes. Another set of plans he’d had to scrap when he’d taken Damian. No time. He’d have to trust this next generation of Robins weren’t stupid enough to rely on Batman coming to save them.

Although this one was sure as hell not proving herself to be smart, given how she was sticking to him. And loud. Christ, his head was starting to pound.

“I’m not going anywhere without you. ‘Sides I got math homework I haven’t even looked at yet and if I don’t go back now I won’t be able to finish it and B’s gonna be so mad. Well, not mad. _Disappointed._ You know how he gets like all; “Stephanie you have to take your schoolwork seriously” and “Stephanie vigilantism can’t be your whole life” and then he brings up good how _Tim’s_ grades are-“

Jason tuned her out. His head was screaming.

“I’m not-“ He croaked

Why was his mouth so dry? He could barely get a word out and his throat was all croaky. And since when had there been three Stephanies?

“- and I was like “You’re not my _real_ Dad, you can’t tell me what to do” and he was all- Hey, are you ok? You look kinda-“

And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! Another cliffhanger? No way!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Just off the top, Jason experiences a lot of feelings of worthlessness, no explicit reference to suicide here, but it could potentially be triggering.  
> Now that that's out of the way; belated death day wishes to our favourite boy! Wanted to get this out yesterday, but I couldn't get it finished in time. Also, bear in mind that both Jason and Steph are both biased in their own special ways and I promise we will see Good Dad Bruce soon! Hope you enjoy!

There was a vague, misty haze over everything. Jason could see faces, hear voices, but it was like being underwater. Everything was so blurred and muffled, it was impossible to make sense of. And his head hurt.

“-n’t even hear me-“

“-are opening, hey!”

“Jason!”

He blinked slowly, trying to force himself to focus.

There were a lot of people gathered around him and it was still too hard to make out who was who.

“Damian?”

At least, that’s what he tried to say. It was hard for him to form words when his mouth felt all dry and weird. He thought his tongue might be swollen.

“Damian.” He said again, more firmly, trying to sit up. Bad idea.

He let out a little whimper at the sudden wave of pain that flooded through him at even that small movement. He felt like he’d been crushed by a steamroller.

“Damian’s alright, Jaylad.” The voice was low and soothing and he was almost reassured by it.

Except something reminded him he couldn’t trust that voice, couldn’t trust anyone because-

“Fuck.” He grunted, dimly realising why it was so hard to focus.

“Don’t-“

“You... _drugged_...hnnnn...” His fingers scrambled uselessly at the IV, trying to pull it out. God, everything hurt. His hands were shaking so badly they kept missing the tube. Batman tried to stop him. Jason weakly tried to swat his hands away, still fumbling the IV line.

He felt himself start to sweat. Bruce had promised.

“Jason you have to leave it in, you’re-“

“You swore you wouldn’t, I can’t-“

“It’s ok Jaybird, just don’t-“

“NO!”

At last, he gained purchase and wrenched the stupid thing out. Jason could feel the blood running down his arm and was passively aware of the new surge of pain but he was breathing too hard to care.

“You said you wouldn’t ever make me.”

He almost winced at the sound of his own voice. It sounded childish and whiny. He was better than that. He’d been tortured by the Demon’s Head personally. He’d been beaten and blown up and stabbed and shot at and fucking poisoned. This final betrayal of trust shouldn’t be the thing that hurt him most.  
Batman and Nightwing exchanged a wary glance, both holding up their hands to placate him. They needn’t have bothered.

For once, the Pit seemed content to take a backseat to regular old human panic.

Back when...before, Jason had a lot of panic attacks. Ironically, it happened a lot more at the Manor then it did on patrol. The child psychologist he’d had exactly one session with had said it was probably because he considered the Manor to be a safe place, a place where he could lose control. That somehow, the debilitating trembling, the nausea and the cold flashes were a sign he was healing.

Thirteen year old Jason thought that was a lot of bull, and eighteen year old Jason agreed with him. Panic attacks were never a good sign. He sure as fuck didn’t feel healed.  
Before, Bruce would have held him, the tight embrace acting as shield from not only the torments of the outside world, but the demons within. Now though, that wasn’t an option.  
He was pretty sure he’d be sick if anyone touched him. Especially Bruce.

“Jay, your arm is bleeding, can I come closer?”

“No! Stay back!” He barked, scrambling backwards to avoid Nightwing’s outstretched hand. He wished he had a weapon, but he likely wouldn’t have hit anything the way he was shaking.

The overhead lights pulsed, their brightness feeling like it was cleaving Jason’s head in two. The taste of copper pooled in his mouth. It nearly made him retch and he choked on the bile, coughing and spluttering and wheezing like the weakling he was.

God he was so fucking pathetic. He couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t even breathe right. This whole mission had been nothing but disaster after disaster; he’d nearly gotten caught a half dozen times just getting here, then he’d had to face Bruce and then Shiva had found him too soon and then he’d had to rely on a child to save him-

He sucked in a shaky breath through his nostrils. He had to focus. He concentrated hard on the pain to ground himself, moving his quivering hand to his bandaged ribs and pressing down. Hard. Someone shouted and white, searing hot, agony swept through him. He almost passed out again, but the knowledge of what they’d done to him already when he was unconscious made him hold on.

His hand came away steadier. As always, pain was the only thing he could rely on.

“I need my stuff.” He said eventually, when he was sure the words would come out sounding even.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Jay.”

Nightwing’s voice grated, his tone the one Jason knew he used on frightened children. Jason was not a child.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking.” He snarled, pushing himself to his feet. His knees almost buckled, every cell in his body screaming.

“It’s in lock up now.” Batman told him shortly.

“Then take it out of lock up!” He snapped.

“If there’s something you need I can get it-“

“I WANT MY STUFF! I WANT TO TAKE MY STUFF AND GO!” He roared, clenching his fists so tightly he could feel the skin splitting.

Being here was smothering. Not only for Batman and Nightwing and the way they kept fucking patronising him. The longer he stayed, the more conscious he got and the worse he felt. The drugs would only work so long in his system and he was doing his best to force them out. He needed control. Being here wasn’t helping him get a handle on himself. He'd had more attacks in the last twenty four hours than he'd had in the previous six months. And being in The Cave especially, with its damp, earthy darkness, its walls in every direction...it made him feel more trapped than he had in years.

He wanted to be out under the stars again. For most of his time at Nadra Parbat, he’d slept outside. He had a room, but being confined to the tiny, cell like space so soon after his resurrection...it hadn’t suited him. He knew that he was a hell of a lot more likely to be murdered by a bored fellow initiate when out in the open, but seeing the vast expanse of sky and ground all around him were the only things that made him comfortable enough to sleep. Here, trapped miles below the surface, in a dark, stone tomb he was left scrambling for anything that could tether him to reality and not the nightmarish space of his mind.

“No. You’re not going anywhere.” Batman’s tone brooked no argument but Jason was through with listening to his bullshit.

“I don’t take orders from you, I don’t take orders from anyone. Brainwash me once, Bruce.”

“Hey that isn’t-“

“Oh fuck you too, like you didn’t run the first chance you got!”

“Jay...I-“

“Jay this, Jaybird that – I don’t even know you!”

Nightwing staggered, as if struck.

“I don’t know any of you- I’m not Robin. I’M here. Me. Not him, NOT the Boy Wonder. He’s _dead_.”

Batman stared at him, warring emotions visible in his eyes. Disgust? Horror? Disbelief? Jason was too far gone to care.

“You don’t get a do over, this isn’t so magic fucking fairytale where I come home and everything is better. He died. Over and over again. Every time he reached out to **you** and you didn’t answer” – He jabbed a finger at Nightwing and then pointed at Batman- “Every time **you** told him he wasn’t fast enough or smart enough or fucking DICK GRAYSON enough and he’s never-“

But whatever he was about to say next, it got caught in his chest. His eyes had skimmed over, then landed on something that shook him to his core.

Jason’s costume. The one he’d died in.

He stared blankly at it, noting every slash and tear, seeing where the burning embers of the building had scorched through to his lifeless body. The shoes weren’t there, Joker had taken them, he remembered faintly. Remembered how he’d left bloody footprints in his last desperate attempt to escape before the bomb had gone off. Before the clock had ticked down to one and he knew there was no getting out alive.

And there, below this tribute, was a shiny bronze plaque; proudly emblazoned with his legacy;

“Jason Todd; A Good Soldier.”

Jason felt numb.

“I always thought...” He coughed, feeling the tears choking him.

It had been his greatest fear.And here it was, confirmed before him. A soldier, a protector. Not a son.

He felt a presence behind him, a hand hovering uncertainly above his shoulder.

“Jason, I...”

The monitor beeped, signalling an incoming call. The hand was gone and he was being ushered to one side. Pushed out of the way. As always.

Batman glanced at him.

“We’ll finish this discussion later.” He promised then did some kind of head nod to Nightwing which obviously conveyed the message “take care of this”.

“Jay..son we should probably move out.”

Jason didn't respond. He simply turned and started walking. Nightwing looked torn, following him to the elevator.

“The Manor’s on lock down because of the whole League thing, you shouldn’t try to leave. I mean we deleted your codes anyway, so you can’t but, you know.”

Nightwing looked at him anxiously, obviously expecting another explosion of temper. He’d made it abundantly clear how he felt being stuck here after all. But Jason just shrugged. Far from the righteous flaming heat of fury that normally filled him, Jason just felt cold. And empty.

_A good soldier._

The elevator dinged. He got in and pushed the button. And two sets of piercing blue eyes watching him ascend.

* * *

  
The library had been Jason’s favourite place in the whole manor, when he’d lived here a life time ago. He’d visited Gotham Central Public Library whenever he could as a kid, both as a quiet place to hole up for the day and to peruse the (admittedly small) collection of books they’d had on offer. He was fairly certain his Mom had taken him there when he was little and he’d borrowed books to read to her in her himself when she was sick. Jason had loved it there.

But nothing could beat the splendour of Wayne Manor’s private library.

It had been a haven of tranquillity and warmth. He had spent countless hours tucked into the corner of the elegant but comfortable chaise lounge, consuming vast quantities of books, desperately trying to fill another hunger left by his time on the streets.

It had felt like home to the boy who hadn’t really known one.

He had expected to be alone.

“Oh. Hi.” Stephanie looked up at him. Her eyes were rimmed red and the stubborn tilt of her chin dared him to ask about it.

She was clutching a book emblazoned with the title: “Algebra: for the 9th Grade”. He vaguely remembered her mentioning something about homework before he’d passed out, but that had been hours ago. Surely she was finished by now.

Jason hadn’t loved Algebra, but he’d been good at it. He’d been good at pretty much everything at school. It had been a point of pride that his GPA soared above everyone else’s, especially when he knew that education had been such a point of contention between Dick and Bruce. There would have been no arguments when it was Jason’s turn to go to college.

If he’d ever have been given the opportunity. A good soldier wouldn’t desert their post. At least not until they knew back up had arrived. Had Bruce simply kept Jason until something better came along?

He strode to the nearest shelf and plucked out a book at random, settling into his usual spot and endeavouring to ignore her. With any luck, Batman would be done soon and he and Bruce could have their pointless discussion about Jason’s future.

Several minutes of silence followed, punctuated only by the occasional frustrated sigh or frantic scribbling.

“I’m not crying over math.” Stephanie said suddenly. He looked up from his book despite himself. He hadn’t really been reading it anyway.

“Crying over math would be stupid. So I’m not doing that.” She added, even as she sniffled and tried to subtly wipe her eye.

Jason hadn’t grown up with other kids. He’d never had a younger sibling, or really an older one for that matter. Not in the way it counted. But he had been fourteen once. Maybe.

“Algebra sucks.” He offered and almost jumped when Stephanie slammed her book down on the table, furious scowl in place.

“You’re right! It does suck! And why am I gonna need it anyhow? I’m gonna foil some bad guy’s plan by using polynomial equations? I don’t think so!”

Jason could vaguely remember having similar feelings when faced with a pile of math homework over going on patrol. But fear of an argument with Bruce akin to the ones he had with Dick had prevented him from ever mentioning those feelings. A proper Robin knew his place.

“I...do you need help?”

Stephanie blinked at him. He was kind of surprised himself.

“What?”

“Like, with the math or whatever.”

Well, the kid had saved his life, so he figured he owed her.

“Could you? I mean, not that I don’t think you’re smart or whatever, but well...”

She trailed off awkwardly.

“I was nearly sixteen when I...I’ve done this stuff before.”

He’d also skipped a grade, but there was no use showing off. The kid was feeling bad enough as it was.

“Oh, ok then. Anything’s better than asking Tim.” She rolled her eyes.

A dubious honour, but one he’d take nonetheless.

“C’mere then.” He said gruffly, shuffling over a little and drawing the coffee table towards them. She plopped down next to him and started fussing with her pencil case. He almost smiled. He knew delaying tactics when he saw them.

He studied the book carefully, and did one or two of the examples to make sure he understood it. It wasn’t exactly easy, but some things you never forgot. Like how to dismantle an ion bomb or how to assemble an AK 47 in seven seconds. Or polynomial equations.

He did his best to explain the method to Stephanie, pointing out the mistakes she’d been making but emphasising how easy they were to make. She was a quick learner. He couldn’t help the rush of satisfaction when she managed to get all the correct answers in one go.

“It sucks, but you did it.” He told her, leaning back against the cushions.

“I did, didn’t I?” She turned and looked at him, a small, pleased smile on her face.

“You’re a pretty good teacher you know. With Tim it’s all ‘I don’t understand, it’s so easy Steph’ and Bruce...Bruce is worse.” She scowled, wrinkling her nose.

It seemed some things never changed.

“Not everyone gets everything first try. Bruce never got that. But you did pretty well and you’re a fast learner.”Jason added awkwardly, patting her shoulder.

Her smile went wobbly at the edges and her eyes started welling up. Jason fought a wave of horror. He wasn’t good with tears.

“Thanks.” She whispered, hugging her knees.

She went quiet again and Jason wondered if he should call Alfred. He was pretty much the only emotionally competent one among them. And he knew Stephanie. Maybe he could make her feel better?

Still, he reached out and gently stroked a hand over her hair. His Mom had always liked that, when she’d been sick. Damian seemed to like it too. And if he was honest, Jason liked to do it. A lifetime of caring for and protecting others had made it so he got comfort from giving comfort. Stephanie shuddered briefly, then to his utter amazement, leaned into him.

“Sometimes...I can’t help but think that Bruce looks at me and sees another street kid with a junkie mom and criminal dad.” It came out a little muffled, with her face pressed into her knees, but Jason heard her all the same.

He swallowed, mouth dry.

“My Mom’s in rehab. I’m staying here while she’s in there and Bruce takes me to visit sometimes. She says this time it might actually take. But that’s what she said the last time so...”

Stephanie shrugged. Jason kept numbly stroking her hair.

“She uh...she’s a nurse. Or was I guess. She got hurt and then her prescription ran out but she had the access...”

She let out a tiny sigh.

“My Dad’s Cluemaster. And I think Mom knew and it wasn’t like he was great to begin with, but after he got out of prison...well the drugs were easier I think.”

Jason didn’t know who Cluemaster was, but the rest of the story was pretty damn familiar. Seemed he and Stephanie had more in common than just a postcode.

“I’m just trying, I’m trying SO hard! But Bruce keeps benching me and telling me I’m reckless and I just...I don’t wanna be like them, like my Dad. I wanna be good, you know?”  
“And I know I can be stupid and I’m not Tim and I’m not like, super well trained or anything, but I’m trying. I just want him...to be proud of me I guess.” She sniffled wetly and Jason cast about for a box of tissues, grabbing one and handing it to her. She snorted.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you. Stupid right?” She pulled back and dabbed at her eyes. Jason handed her another tissue. She nodded her thanks, clearly embarrassed.

“You don’t need to apologise.” He assured her.

“I’m AM really sorry though. I mean, like, we don’t even really know each other. I just, I can’t talk about this with Tim. He doesn’t get it. And Dick’s nice but he’s not here most of the time and Alfred...well you know Alfred.” She blew her nose loudly.

“You saved my butt out there, I think that's a pretty good start." Jason hesitated. He didn't want to screw this up for her.

"Alfred could help.” He offered weakly. Stephanie shot him a look.

“Yeah, but Bruce is like his kid or whatever so he’s always gonna pick his side, which makes sense, but...well, you know. I guess I just feel like an outsider here. Not really in, not really out. Stupid.” She said again, derisively.

He forced down the guilt. All of this was way out of his comfort zone. She needed a friend and a confidant who understood what she was going through. She’d said as much. He couldn’t help her. Not in the long term really. He wasn’t going to be around.

“My Mom died when I was eleven.” He heard himself say, quietly. Stephanie froze beside him.

“It had been just us for a while. My Dad was in prison. He worked for Two Face. We were better off.” He added fiercely.

True, with Willis there had been groceries on the regular and the electricity stayed on, but without him no one feared coming home and having their nose broken or having cigarettes put out on their arm.

“Mom was...well...she was...she tried her best. But it wasn’t easy and the drugs...they helped I guess. I don’t know.” He stood, ignoring the wave of pain that engulfed him at the movement. He strode to the window and gazed out over the grounds, eyes unseeing.

“I came home from school one day and she was just there, on the floor. She wasn’t always the best Mom, but she tried and I...”

He hadn’t allowed himself to think about that day in years. Seeing her lying there on the floor, blue lipped and frozen had terrified him. He’d dropped to his knees beside her and cried, begging and pleading for her to get up, even as he knew it would never happen. Catherine Todd may not have given birth to him, but she’d loved him as best as she’d been able to. He’d been her son.

“Well, they put me in the system. And the foster family I had...they sucked. So I ran. I was on the streets for about a year and a half when Batman caught me. And well...you know the rest.”

He felt embarrassed.

Sure, Stephanie had basically just given him her own tragic back story, but he shouldn’t have burdened her with his own past. She was a kid who needed support and he’d dumped all his problems on her like the whiny piece of shit he was. But he hadn’t meant to. He just wanted to make sure another Robin wasn’t left feeling alone and misunderstood.

“Uh, I don’t. Not really.” Stephanie said, going a bit red.

He looked at her incredulously. He would have thought Bruce would have made all incoming Robins study his epic failure to make sure they weren’t all fuck ups like him. To make sure they didn’t die like him. Hell, he'd made a giant fucking glass case to display just how much of a stupid mess Jason had gotten himself into.

“I mean I know I was s’posed to read the files but there’s homework and patrol and stuff. It all piles up.” She said defensively.

“Oh, well. I met B stealing the tires off the Batmobile. And he kinda took me in after that, more or less. He needed a new Robin and I needed some place to stay so-“

“Hang on a freaking minute, you stole the tires off the Batmobile?” She shrieked, her eyes lighting up.

He grinned despite himself. It was pretty badass move for a thirteen year old homeless kid. Batman would have called it reckless, but who gave a shit what he thought?

“Yeah, I did. I got the fourth one loose and then Batman caught me. I managed to hit him with the tire iron but-“

Steph shrieked again, pure glee in her expression.

“Oh my God! So you hit THE Batman with a _tire iron and stole his tires_. You’re like, my hero! Did he cry? Or even whimper? Groan in pain?” She asked eagerly.

Jason hadn't had a captive audience in a long time. He'd always been a bit theatrical (dramatic, Bruce would say). But there was something particularly cathartic to talking about this with Stephanie. Feeding off her reactions. Even if he still felt bad about laying it all on her, it felt like a funny story he was telling, rather than a part of the past he wanted to ignore. Besides, she seemed to want to know more. And he was flattered enough to continue.

“Nah, he got me to stick all the tires back on though. Then the crazy bastard asked me if I wanted a ride. Bought me a Batburger. I was sure he was gonna shop me to the cops, but he dropped me off at a reform school instead. Turned out to be a front for a gang. Next thing I know I’m helping him take the assholes down and he’s asking me if I wanna come live with him.”

Steph burst out laughing. It made him smile.

“What a fucking weirdo! I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear that. The Dark Knight getting beaten up and robbed by a twelve year old and then taking him out for burgers and adopting him.”

“I was thirteen actually.”

“Whatever! Still a way better origin story than mine. I hit Robin in the face with a brick. I’d been out dropping clues about my Dad...”

She stopped laughing and trailed off. The mention of her father had clearly sobered her. Jason knew what that was like.

“Still sounds pretty badass to me, Stephanie.” He said carefully, dropping back down to sit beside her.

“Actually...“

She looked up at him, somehow both determined and hopeful.

“...my friends call me Steph.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT, NO CLIFFHANGER! YAY ME!


	6. Chapter 6

Sleep didn’t exactly come easy to Jason. Being back here drudged up a lot of feelings as evidenced by all the attacks he’d had. Nightmares had been a frequent occurrence in his youth, but he wasn’t going to go crying to Bruce this time. He could handle himself. But after hours of tossing and turning, jerking awake seconds after dozing off, he gave it up as a bad job.

Back in Nadra Parbat, he’d done yoga every morning before dawn. He’d shot up in height in a matter of seconds thanks to the Lazarus Pit and his muscles weren’t exactly grateful for it. He still got phantom growing pains on occasion. The yoga helped. He’d never be as limber as the over cooked spaghetti noodle that was Dick Grayson, but the added flexibility didn’t hurt. That and it was a pretty calming activity. It helped to centre him.

Today though, he’d tried to slip into downward dog and had immediately collapsed, only avoiding screaming by biting down hard on his knuckles. Whatever the fuck Shiva had smeared all over those knives of hers was lethal if he still hadn’t worked it out of his system. A quiet voice murmured that if Steph hadn’t been there and got Batman to take him back to the Cave, he’d almost definitely be dead, advanced healing or not. Not that that mattered in the long run.

He pushed himself up painfully slowly and considered his options.

The gym or the pool might have been a good bet, either would be good time killers, but he quickly decided against it. The state he was in, he could barely walk, let alone got through his normal physical routine. He fought a wave of self loathing at his current weakness. He was no use to anyone the way he was right now. He tried to distract himself by thumbing through a few books that had been left in the room, but couldn’t focus. Frustration built. He couldn’t focus on _anything_. He felt so trapped, so helpless, he couldn’t _do_ anything, he couldn’t even open a stupid window or he’d set all the fucking alarms off. He just –

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud stomach rumble. Jason sighed. At least he’d feel productive cooking something. He rose and limped painfully downstairs, heading for the kitchen.

Despite his current feelings about the majority of the house’s inhabitants and how they’d trapped him like a fucking rat, there were some good things about being in the Manor.

The kitchen had been another sacred space. Bruce was hopeless with anything cooking related. He wasn’t allowed to go near any culinary implements, let alone the stove. The two of them had mostly eaten in the informal dining room on the rare occasions when they ate together. According to Alfred, Dick wasn’t much better – happily subsisting on sugary cereal and coffee if he could get away with it.

But Jason was a good cook. It was mostly Alfred who’d taught him, but Mom hadn’t been able to cook for them towards the end so he’d picked up _some_ stuff.

Of course, lessons with Alfred were a bit more comprehensive than just boiling pasta or microwaving leftovers. He’d been an eager student, desperate to learn how to properly fend for himself (and to prove himself useful). He’d gotten frustrated a lot, as he often did when things didn’t come naturally to him. He was already so far behind in pretty much every department, he hadn’t wanted to add to his list of failures. He’d almost bailed in the middle of his first lesson after slicing his finger open cutting chicken.

Alfred had quietly dressed the cut and reassured Jason that cooking took practise. He’d revealed that when he’d first arrived at the Manor, he too was quite the novice in the kitchen. The Army Intelligence division didn’t exactly run to cordon bleu fare. But after the death of Thomas and Martha, the household staff had been dramatically reduced. Bruce hadn’t wanted a lot of people around. And so Alfred had gone from butler to father, housekeeper, chef and general dogsbody.

“I wouldn’t trade it of course.” He’d said, quietly chopping vegetables at Jason’s side.

“Raising Master Bruce was my greatest joy. One that’s been doubled and trebled since you and Master Dick came into our lives. But I can’t help but wonder, if I tried a little more, perhaps if he’d had more people in his life to depend on...”Alfred had let out a wistful little sigh, then shook his head and changed the subject. Jason didn’t have to ask what he meant.

Alfred had seen three sets of dark haired boys go out into the darkness of Gotham and had bandaged and nursed and prayed for them over and over. Each time desperately hoping they’d come back, not knowing if they would. Waiting in here, hour after hour, night after night.

And then, one of them hadn’t come back.

Or at least he _had_ , but no one had expected him to. (No one had _wanted_ him to, his mind corrected darkly.)

But really, the kitchen had been theirs. Alfred’s and Jason’s. A quiet place, the true heart of the first real home he’d had. Except that hadn’t been true either. The Manor hadn’t really been his home any more than Bruce had been his father.

It was with this cheery thought that he pushed open the kitchen door to the only sight that could have made his morning worse.

Timothy Jackson Drake was sitting at the counter eating and fiddling with the coffee maker. The door creaked and he whirled around, looking like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Upon seeing it was Jason standing in the doorway he abruptly started choking.

A teeny, tiny part of Jason was tempted to just turn around and walk away, but if the kid died Bruce would for sure pin it on Jason. Jason had quite enough to be dealing with, without adding passive manslaughter to the list.

Sighing, he crossed to the counter and began thumping Timothy on the back. Perhaps a bit too hard, but it was a better alternative than trying to give the kid the Heimlich . Timothy coughed and a large disgusting globule flew across the counter and landed with a squelch on the floor. Tim let out a moan and covered his face with his hands. 

“Gross.” Jason muttered, grabbing a piece of kitchen towel to clean up.

Disposing of the evidence had done little to make Timothy feel better evidently, as he’d gone a rather ugly shade of red. Jason had hit him pretty hard, but surely not _that_ hard?

“Here.” He said brusquely, thrusting a glass of water at the kid.

Tim stared at it like Jason was trying to get him to drink a glass of live snakes. After several seconds where neither of them moved, Jason slammed the glass down and started fixing himself something to eat. Whatever. It was none of his business if the little twerp wanted to choke again.

“OOOOOOHHHH! Whatcha makin’?” Steph sauntered in, still in her pyjamas and hopped up on the stool beside Tim.

“Omelette.” He grunted, whisking the eggs rapidly.

“Fancy! I’m more of a waffles gal myself.” She said, leaning forward to peer at the pan and giving him doe eyes.

“Alfred said you’re a good cook.” She added, in case she hadn’t been obvious enough the first time. He stifled a smile.

“ _Steph!_ ” Timothy hissed.

There was a muffled thump like someone trying to kick a casted leg. Steph swore and Timothy let out a pleased little huff. Jason didn’t bother turning around, but pointedly got out flour and sugar. He knew whose side he was on.

Steph cheered, her pain forgotten.

“You don’t have to-“ Timothy began but shut up when Steph elbowed him.

“Ignore him. You absolutely do have to.” She said firmly.

He wasn’t someone who had ever liked being told what to do, but turned back to the pan and began mixing the batter anyway. Wasn’t like he had anything better to do. And the kid needed feeding up.

And now he was thinking like Alfred.

It had been a while since he’d cooked for himself. In the League there had been servants who cooked for the whole compound. The food was generally simple and rather bland. Everyone had gotten the same. Well, probably not Ra’s and Talia. But the rest of the initiates had all eaten it. It was another subtle tool of subjugation, of control. You are all the same and will be treated as such. Jason had always hated it.

He relished being able to prepare his own food again. His time on the road had mostly consisted of whatever he could grab that was quick and cheap. Here there was nothing but the finest quality and most expensive ingredients money could buy.

He was going to take the opportunity while he still could. His time on the streets had taught him never to turn down a meal. You never knew where the next one was coming from.

He concentrated on blending the ingredients together. Omelettes and waffles were relatively simple preparation wise, but it had been a while. And both required a lot of watching. He did his best to tune Steph and Tim out. He could still hear the two of them muttering to each other, but couldn’t quite catch most of what was being said until he turned off the pan and the waffle iron.

“- if you’d stop being so _weird_!” Steph said heatedly, pointing at Tim.

Tim, noticed Jason observing them and went red, again. Jason frowned. Someone oughta get the kid checked out if he kept getting so flushed.

Not that worrying about Timothy was his job, he reminded himself sternly. Timothy resumed eating his (by now) cold toast, chewing each bite with a great deal more care than before.

It was probably a bit petty of him, but he couldn’t resist plating up Steph’s waffles with an extra amount of flare. Sure, a better person would have offered some to Tim, but Jason figured wasn’t a particularly good person. Case in point, just under two months ago he’d been developing an in depth plan to murder the kid.

So the kicked puppy look on Timothy’s face didn’t bother him in the slightest. He’d already done his good deed for Timothy Drake for the morning. He wasn’t feeling guilty over something so small. Obviously.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?” He said suddenly, realising how quickly the time had passed. It was already half seven in the morning, as he remembered it, Gotham Academy took roll at eight.

And woe betide you if you were caught yawning in class, he remembered grimly. He’d liked school, but more for the learning than the people. It figured that the school that charged the GDP of a small country in annual fees would attract just as many teachers who were snobby assholes as it did students who were entitled pricks.

“Eshtenatin sirkmshtanc.” Steph told him through a mouthful of waffle. He gave her a look that Alfred would have been proud of and waited for her to finish her bite before repeating himself.

“Extenuating circumstances. Bruce said we shouldn’t be out in the open what with...YOU know.” She wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully, spearing more waffle onto her fork.

“He told the school it was a family emergency.” Tim added quietly. Jason ignored him. He didn’t want to touch _that_ answer with a ten foot pole. He turned back to Steph.

“Guess we did all that math for nothing, huh?”

Steph pulled a face, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. She’d stuffed the entire rest of the waffle into her mouth in one go. She held up one finger to indicate for him to wait and started chewing furiously. Thankfully this time, she waited to finish eating before trying to talk again. He took her plate and began washing up.

“Nah, Bruce woulda checked it eventually. And I actually know what’s going on now so, not a total loss.”

She shrugged, but sent him a shy smile. He smiled back. She was a pretty good kid. Clearly Bruce’s taste in strays had improved.

Timothy meanwhile, just looked hurt. He glanced back and forth between them, opening his mouth (probably to tell Steph she should’ve come to him for help rather than the undead assassin) when the door swung open again.

“Apologies all, I had rather forgotten how resistant infants are to settling down to sleep. Rather interferes with one’s ability to hear the alarm.” Alfred bustled in, looking a little tired but otherwise his typical unruffled self.

Bruce entered behind him, looking much worse for wear. His hair stuck up at odd angles. There were huge bags under his eyes. A small stain of what might have been baby sick adorned his left shoulder. Jason had seen him go up against the Rogue’s Gallery and come out looking better.

He held Damian in his arms, dressed in a little Batman onesie. Judging by the puffy redness of his face and the dried snot on his upper lip, he hadn’t slept well either. Jason felt mildly guilty. He hadn’t been sleeping anyway, he could have dealt with Damian, he had plenty of experience. The guilt was only compounded when the baby let out a delighted squeak at seeing Jason and started making grabby hands toward him. There was an awkward second where Bruce paused, standing close enough to hand the baby over to Jason, but obviously decided against it.

Right. Well, it wasn’t like he didn’t know where he stood with Bruce already, Jason thought, scrubbing furiously at the pan in the sink.

Alfred shooed him away, muttering under his breath about the crockery not being able to withstand such vehement attention. Jason didn’t join them at the breakfast bar, preferring instead to lean against the wall, keeping all exits in his line of sight. Sitting down would probably have been a relief, given than he still hurt everywhere, but he wasn’t going to go cosying up with the rest of them. Anyway, the scene in front of him was so disgustingly domestic he wanted to barf.

Bruce was absentmindedly stroking Damian’s hair as he skimmed the morning newspaper. He sipped carefully from the cup of coffee Alfred had fixed him, keeping it well out of reach of the baby’s busy hands. And Tim’s he noticed. Bruce’s eyes never left the paper, but moved the cup a split second before the teen could grab it.

“Caffeine stunts your growth.” Bruce said mildly, bouncing Damian on his knee as the baby started to grizzle. Alfred pointedly placed a tall glass of green smoothie in front of Tim before resuming his preparation of Damian’s porridge. Steph sniggered.

“Yeah, must be the reason you’re such a puny little runt.” Tim said darkly, eying the smoothie with distaste. Jason didn’t quite manage to stifle a snort. Bruce took up half the enormous breakfast bar on his own.

Bruce glanced up at the noise. Jason had almost gotten used to being forgotten again.

“Good morning Jason. Did you sleep well?” Bruce’s tone was stiff, but distracted. Damian had taken hold of the spoon and was trying to mash porridge into his hair.

“Like the dead.” He said nastily. It was a lie, but if Bruce was going to give him an opening he wasn’t going to waste it.

Bruce mouth formed into a thin line, clearly trying to restrain himself. Jason refused to meet Alfred’s eyes, knowing he’d see admonishment there.

“Right.” Bruce said, uncomfortably.

“Well, we need to discuss your...situation more comprehensively. If you would join me in the Cave after breakfast?”

“You already know what you need to know.” Jason told him coldly. No way he wanted to go through all of the hideous details of the last three years with Bruce and that fucking effigy looming over him.

“We need to get a fuller understanding of your interactions with the League, to form a plan of defence.” Bruce insisted.

“They’re after me, they’re after Damian. They know we’re here. Am I done now?” He snapped, pushing off the wall. His muscles groaned in complaint, but he wasn’t about to show weakness with Batman on the attack. And he sure as hell didn’t want to start something in front of Alfred.

Bruce let out a sound of exasperation.

Alfred, no doubt scenting danger scooped up Damian and started herding Tim and Steph out of the room. He paused in the doorway, shooting Jason a pained look that made guilt churn in his stomach and had an apology forming on the tip of his tongue. it made him want But then he was gone and Jason was left alone with Bruce, who was getting all fired up to tell Jason how wrong he was. Again.

“This is a serious threat, Jason. We can’t afford to be flippant. They’ve already sent Shiva in, God knows who else in roaming about-“

“If you’d have left me deal with this the way I wanted to, you would have time to make your stupid contingency plans, it’s too late now-“

“If I’d have let you deal with this the way you wanted to, you’d be lying dead in Crime Alley!”

“Exactly!”

A very cold silence filled the room.

Jason scowled, rubbing his forehead. He hadn’t meant to say that bit out loud. But the Pit latched onto it anyway. It murmured in his ear. Reminded him that Bruce didn’t understand, that none of them had ever understood, they’d never wanted Jason anyhow-

“Jason-“ Bruce sounded like someone had punched him in the gut.

“Whatever. I’m done talking about this.”

“Jason, you can’t possibly-“

“Can’t possibly what Bruce?”

The Pit grew a little louder, hissing at Jason that Bruce couldn’t talk to him like that. He couldn’t order him around anymore. Nobody could order Jason around and he could show Bruce that if he just-

“The mission was to keep Damian safe.” Jason gritted out. “If I can buy him extra time-“

“There is no mission here, Jason.” Bruce said quietly. He paused, obviously trying to consider his words carefully.

“You’ve done so much already, Jason. No one was expecting you to sacrifice-“

“Well there isn’t any good reason to stick around. I’m no use to you alive. Can’t be a martyred little soldier if I’m not dead.”

“Jason, that’s not...you were never just my-“

“What is Robin then, if not a soldier? Deny it all you want Bruce, but strapping a kid into a costume and putting them in the front lines sounds pretty damn soldier like to me. And hey, if they get killed, no biggie. There’s always some messed up kid that’s happy enough to fill the pixie boots for a pat on the head and a great big fuck off monument when they die.”

It shouldn’t have bothered Jason the way it did. He knew that. He was the one who’d drawn the line in the sand, reminded Bruce that the kid he remembered had died in Ethiopia.

But fuck him, it did hurt. He may have tried to divorce himself from that child, but Jason still had his memories. Still had his scars, his pain.

“Jason, the case in the cave...”

“Go on, I can’t wait to hear you justify this one. I mean I knew you were a hoarder, but it kinda seems a bit much, no?”

“I didn’t...I couldn’t let myself forget-“

“So you keep photographs or my baseball glove. You don’t strip my dead body so you can add to your “Precious Memories” collection!”

“Dear God Bruce! Everything in that goddamn place is a trophy! The penny, the dinosaur, the fucking freeze ray – all mementoes of your great achievements! What the fuck was I, just another thing for you to add to your collection? Another souvenir of your epic, ongoing battle of wits with _my murderer_?” 

“No! No, goddamn it! You were my boy, my _son_! I _grieved_ for you – your death _destroyed_ me-”

“Didn’t change anything though, did it? I mean you didn’t hang up the cowl, you didn’t end Robin, you didn’t kill _him_. I obviously didn’t mean anything to you, or you’d have actually done something to make my death worthwhile. You’d have given me _meaning_.”

“Your death could never have been worthwhile, Jason. You were a _child_! _My_ child.”

“And I’m not anymore.”

Bruce went rigid, his knuckles straining against the skin from their grip on the countertop. At some point he’d stood up, knocking over the stool. Neither of them had noticed.

He swallowed harshly, eyes locked on Jason’s face. Jason wondered what he saw.

When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly. The way it had been when he read to Jason to help stave off the nightmares in those dark nights so long ago. Batman had been Gotham’s hero, but Bruce had been Jason’s.

“Regardless of what you believe, I love you Jason. I have loved you. And I want to keep you safe. I’m not losing you. Not again.” His voice broke on the last word, his head bowed.

Jason didn’t quite know how to respond. Bruce had told him he loved him before. As a boy, as...as _Robin_. But not a lot. Not enough for the scared little boy he’d been to feel secure in that love, to feel like he’d earned it, the way he’d earned his place in the house by playing Robin.

So to hear him say it now, when he’d threatened and hurt and railed at Bruce...

“I...I’m, I’ve got to go.” He edged out of the room carefully, lest Bruce turn and say something more. Something that would make him stay.

Again, Jason found himself aimlessly wandering the halls of the Manor. He really ought to be lying down, given that he still felt like someone had put his insides through a shredder, but he couldn’t face sitting alone in an empty room with nothing to drown out the noise in his head.

_I love you. I have loved you. I want to keep you safe._

He ended up in the family wing of the house.

It had been a relatively lonely stretch of corridor when he’d lived here. Dick had only called by to collect more stuff from his old room and Bruce’s suite was rarely occupied. Alfred slept in his apartments in the floor above. So as excited and all as he’d been about having a space of his own for the first time, Jason hadn’t much liked spending time here. Coming to the Manor had meant to abate the loneliness, not amplify it. Jason had quickly found you could feel just as alone in a ginormous mansion as you could in a cardboard box.

He turned himself around, some vague notion of heading to the library in the vain hopes of actually being able to distract himself, when Steph poked her head out. Of course, the rooms along here were occupied now. Hell, Dick was probably sleeping soundly in his old room right now, unaware of the latest Jason Freak Out he’d missed.

“Oh hey.” Steph said.

“Hi.” He replied shortly.

She looked awkward, as if she didn’t quite know what to say. Not that he blamed her. Alfred had taken her and the others out of the room, but they’d heard enough.

“Ummm...d’ya wanna talk about it?” She asked.

“Not really.”

“Ok, well...me an’ Tim were gonna play Mario Kart in a while. You wanna join?”

He blinked at her.

On the one hand, it would give him something to do. He’d be distracted from the impending invasion, his confinement and probable death. He’d have to concentrate so his mind couldn’t endlessly obsess over what Bruce had said in the kitchen and whether he’d meant it or if he’d just wanted to shut Jason up.

On the other hand, he’d have to hang out with Tim.

Steph seemed to read his mind.

“He’s not so bad you know. I know I said all that stuff yesterday, but I was just frustrated. Tim’s actually kinda cool.”

Jason thought back to him choking on his own toast. He raised an eyebrow. Steph let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Ok, well, maybe not _cool_ but he is pretty nice and fun to hang around.” She wheedled.

He rubbed his eyes. The kid was like a dog with a bone.

“Please? Please oh please oh please oh please oh-“

“ _Fine_.” He said tiredly.

They wouldn’t have to talk or anything. It was just video games. And they’d survived being alone for five minutes together this morning. Barely. But it would be easier with Steph as a buffer.

“Yes! Awesome, ok, so I’ll see you in the games room in like twenty minutes. I gotta uh...wash my hair.”

She disappeared before Jason could ask her where precisely the games room was.

Jason knew the Manor was ludicrously large and they had to do something to fill all the space, but a whole room dedicated to just games? He’d had a Playstation in his room but it had mostly been left to gather dust. Video games had never really been his thing. He preferred to read, or watch old movies when he felt so inclined.

He remembered a few times when he’d been too sick to go out and Bruce had cancelled patrol to sit in with him and watch old BBC period dramas. He’d snuggle up under his blanket and drink honey and hot lemon, head leaning against Bruce’s side. The two of them would talk their way through most of the movie, a habit Alfred abhorred. Jason had loved pointing out the way the films often deviated from the novels they were often based on and Bruce likewise, would pick out any historical inaccuracies he could find. They’d usually end up mocking the actors, doing their worst impressions of British accents that they could, ending up wheezing with laughter by the time the credits rolled around. He’d never felt so happy or so safe than he did during those times, just being with his Da-

_Anyway,_ a games room seemed excessive when there were just two teenagers in the house likely to use it.

It took him so long to locate it he assumed they’d have given up on him and started the game. So he was surprised to see just Tim sitting on the large sofa, leg carefully propped up on a cushion.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you’d come.” He shot Jason a small, slightly nervous smile.

“Steph not here yet?” He grunted, settling on the seat furthest from Tim.

“Ah, no. She said she had to finish an essay and then she’d join us.”

“She told me she was washing her hair.”

Both of them locked eyes, wearing identical expressions of annoyance as they simultaneously realised they’d been played. And the game hadn’t even started yet.

“Can I just-“ Tim hesitated, biting his lip. He seemed to be thinking carefully about what he wanted to say.

“Earlier, in the kitchen-“ He began delicately.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s just-“

“No.”

“If you’d let me-“

“I didn’t wanna talk about it with Bruce, or Alfred or Steph or Dick. What the fuck makes you think I’d wanna talk about it with you?”

Jason hated that everyone kept treating him like he was primed to explode. Of course he _was_ technically primed to blow up at any moment. And had done so, several times already. But he’d also held himself back way more times than he’d lost control. He had a handle on things. Kinda.

Tim had wisely shut up.

The silence lingered, heavy and awkward. Jason saw Tim open and shut his mouth several times. Irritation pricked at him.

“If you wanna say something, just say it.” He snapped.

The kid peered at him with his big, injured eyes. Jesus, it was like yelling at a blue eyed Bambi. Bruce must have a hard time disciplining this one. Then again, Mr Perfect here probably never slipped up or did wrong.

“I just, I wanted to say sorry. And thanks I guess. For, you know. Everything.” Tim said stiffly.

What was that supposed to mean? That he was thankful Jason had died? Sorry that he’d taken his place? Well the little shit could think again. He could pretend to be sorry all he wanted, he hadn’t accidentally tripped and fallen into Robin’s costume. And he sure as hell shouldn’t feel grateful. Jason hadn’t wanted him to have all this.

“Whatever.”

No matter how provoking the brat was going to be, he wasn’t going to engage with him, he reminded himself sternly. Timothy Drake had stolen his life, his home and his Da- _costume_. He’d already stretched the limits of Jason’s patience and generosity today. Although...

Jason peeked over at him out of the corner of his eye. Tim had deflated like a popped balloon at his dismissal. Had he tried to sink into the couch any more, he’d have disappeared between the cushions, like a forgotten penny or Jason’s long lost kazoo.

Jason sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Look, I’m not... we’re not _pals_ or whatever. I’m not Dick, I’m not going to be some _wise older brother figure_ alright? I’ll be outta your hair soon and neither of us will ever have to see each other again.”

Tim’s brow furrowed in a gesture so Bruce like it made Jason want to scream.

“That’s not what I want. I don’t want you to _leave-“_

“Guess who’s ready to destroy both your asses on Rainbow Road!”

Tim let out a growl of frustration as Steph burst into the room and vaulted over the back of the couch. Dick probably would have deducted points for style, but she stuck the landing. Even if she did jolt Tim’s leg in the process.

Tim let out a stream of swear words that would have made a Gotham Rogue blush. Good thing Alfred wasn’t nearby or Tim would be stuck paying the swear jar in instalments.

“How’s the essay _Stephanie?_ ” Tim sniped, elbowing her fiercely until she budged over to the other side of the couch. He adjusted his leg again, wincing as he did so.

Steph swished her (decidedly DRY) hair, deliberately making it hit him in the face.

“ _Fine_ thank you _Master Timothy_.” She sneered back, snatching up one of the controllers.

She then turned to Jason, flashing him her best smile.

“ _Normally_ we’d be playing Just Dance because Tim is a _dirty rotten cheater_ at Mario Kart-“

“I can’t help it that you suck!”

“-BUT since _someone_ broke their leg last time-“

“I DID NOT BREAK MY LEG PLAYING JUST DANCE!” Tim denied loudly, but Steph ploughed on, heedless to his obvious mortification.

“-ANYWAY! Tim broke his STUPID leg and now Just Dance is banned and we’re forced to play Mario Kart.”

Her eyes glinted as she handed Jason his controller.

“Hey, maybe this time one of us can actually beat him.” She said, nodding towards Tim.

“Not likely. I’ve never played this before.” Jason told her.

“He’s not into videogames.” Tim said unthinkingly.

Ok, that was mildly creepy. Jason doubted Bruce had kept extensive records of his likes and dislikes and he didn’t think either he or Alfred would have talked about him that much in his absence. Tim, seeing the weirded out look both of them were giving him, went red, fumbling his own Wii remote.

“I- “

“God Tim, you’re such a creeper.” Steph sighed, shooting Jason a long suffering glance.

Tim opened his mouth to protest, then seemingly realised there was no defending his position without sounding even more stalkery than he already did and closed it again.

“Moving past Tim and his super weirdo behaviour, the game’s pretty simple. Here-“

She leaned over and demonstrated briefly how each of the buttons worked, giving a vague and slightly confusing description of the power ups and how to use them.

“Ok, ready? Go!”

Jason hadn’t been ready, but he doubted if it mattered either way to Steph. She played to win. At one point she stood up and hurled several cushions at Jason when he’d managed to lap her during their third race. She’d also tried to block Tim’s view of the screen by jumping up and down in front of him, knowing he couldn’t move. Tim still managed to take first place.

Jason grinned. This actually wasn’t half bad. It had been a while since he’d just let loose and had fun. Having a good time hadn’t exactly fit in with the ethos of the League of Assassins and he’d been pretty preoccupied with child rearing and dodging death squads these last few weeks.

He swerved to avoid the green shell Tim aimed at him, coming up just behind him to slip into second place. They were neck in neck, almost at the finish line when both their remotes stopped responding. Steph was blocking the sensor with her foot.

“It’s not cheating if you’re attacking your opponents in real life!” She protested when they both turned to yell at her.

“Only if you use _cheat codes_.” She added, shooting Tim a look that would have had Gotham’s criminal underbelly quivering in their boots. Tim looked inches away from bludgeoning her with his remote.

“For the last time I DIDN’T-“

“Hey kiddos, Alfred says lunch is ready.”

Steph let out a whoop, scrambling back over the back of the couch and charging past Dick. He was standing in the doorway, fond smile firmly in place and ruffled her hair as she steamed past him. Seeing Tim struggling with his crutches, he swooped in and scooped him up, cradling him like a baby. Tim protested, but seemed secretly pleased at being fussed over.

Dick, as if suddenly remembering Jason existed, gave him a short head jerk, indicating for him to follow. He headed out the door without bothering to check if Jason was coming.

Jason felt a sudden irrational swell of jealousy. Dick had never been into the whole big brother thing when Jason was around. Things had obviously changed. But then again, Tim and Steph were Dick’s siblings now. They meant something to him. He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth at the realisation that Damian would be Dick’s little brother too. Damian would grow up with three siblings who loved him and wanted to tease and to protect him. He’d never be alone, never doubt his place in the world, in the family, with all of them for back up.

Jason wasn’t his brother. Jason wasn’t anyone’s sibling. He didn’t belong anywhere. Not then and not now.

No matter what Bruce said.

Dread pooled in his gut at the thought of going downstairs and facing Bruce after everything that morning.

Dick had gone on, evidently not bothered to wait for him. Not that Jason cared. He didn’t want to go and subject himself to another tension filled meal followed by a screaming match for dessert. No, what he wanted was to be alone. He’d always done better alone.

Without thinking, he’d once again arrived outside his childhood bedroom. He hesitated. He really didn’t want to go in there. It was more personal somehow. Like, if he went in there it would be acknowledging that he really had lived a life here. But it was private and probably the last place anyone would think to check on him. If anyone did find him, he could just say he’d gotten caught up in all the memories and shit.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It looked exactly the same as it had when he’d left for Ethiopia. The same posters hung on the walls, the same pile of books to be read on his locker, the same crisp blue sheets, neatly tucked with hospital corners, just like Alfred had showed him.

He ran a finger over the top of the bookshelf. He hadn’t been able to reach it before, not without stepping on his desk chair.

He opened the wardrobe. He’d grabbed his favourite things and shoved them in the bag he’d taken when he’d left, but his denim jacket was still here. So was his signed baseball jersey, from the first Knights Game Bruce had taken him to. God, he’d been so _small_.

It really hit him then. This stuff had been _his_. He’d worn those clothes. He’d read those books. It was him who’d started the half written assignment on the desk.

All of this stuff, perfectly preserved for the little boy who they thought would never come home. But they’d kept it anyway. Bruce had kept it anyway.

Maybe the costume in the Cave wasn’t just a tribute to a fallen soldier or a warning for those who saw it. Maybe, in Bruce’s fucked up emotionally constipated mind it was a reminder. If he’d kept Jason’s room just as he’d left it, maybe he’d kept the costume to remember Jason’s other side. And if he wanted to remember him then...

Maybe...maybe he’d loved Jason after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOUR DAD DOES LOVE YOU JAY, HE'S JUST AN IDIOT!  
> And also I just realised on the read through I literally never let Tim finish his sentences, lol! Poor kid, don't worry though, his moment is coming! Hope you guys like it!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains references to drug use and child abuse/neglect. It's not super graphic and there's no violence towards children, more on the side of neglect but if any one is at all triggered by those subjects you might want to avoid this chapter.  
> Now that that's out of the way I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who's commented and left kudos so far, especially Sloths_Will_Takeover who provided me with the research I used for Jason's delve into addiction science as well as being a totally awesome person to bounce ideas off and discuss Jason in general with!

“Hey.”

Jason jolted, springing off the bed in a move that had every muscle in his body protesting.

“Sorry! I just- you didn’t come down, so I...”

Dick looked a little panicked. Whether he was afraid Jason was going to launch himself at him or he was afraid he’d tear his stitches it wasn’t clear. He licked his lips nervously, then cleared his throat.

“I uh...I’ve never been in here before.”

“No shit.” Jason grunted, eye twitching as his hand went to check his side. It felt like molten lava oozed under his skin, but the stitches hadn’t torn. A small mercy.

Dick had the grace to look ashamed. He shuffled from foot to foot, peering up at Jason through his lashes. He didn’t step over the threshold though. Something held him back. A latent sense of decorum or respect for Jason’s privacy perhaps. Whatever it was, Jason was glad of it. This family crossed too many of his boundaries already.

“Bruce...he, he normally keeps it locked.”

Oh. Jason filed that thought away under things to think about absolutely never, along with the strange feeling of both warmth and sadness that the statement brought. The room really _had_ been undisturbed then. His eyes caught on the old game console under the TV and his lips pursed.

Well, not completely undisturbed.

“Didn’t stop the rugrat from getting in.” Jason said, keeping his tone cool.

“He looks up to you.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A twinge of guilt accompanied the statement. Steph had been pretty clear on how Tim felt about him and the kid wasn’t particularly subtle about wanting to make peace either. The only thing Jason didn’t get was _why_. He didn’t need Jason. He had Golden Boy to look up to after all.

“It’s kinda nice, you have a lot more books than I do. Bruce was always trying to get on to me about-“

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. Trust Dick to come all the way up here to hassle him and then try and avoid the issue.

“Why are you here Dick?” He said impatiently.

Dick’s hand flew to the back of his neck, rubbing it uncomfortably.

“You...you didn’t come down so I-“

“Cut the bullshit. What do you want?”

Jason was tired. He was so sick of cycling through the rage fits and exhaustion, the guilt and the righteous fury. Sick of dodging questions and having everyone walk on eggshells. He wanted a straight answer.

Dick stared at him, then looked away, clearing his throat.

“I didn’t go to your funeral.”

Jason sighed, rolling his eyes. All the goddamn theatrics in this family.

“I _know_.”

He’d checked the photographs, trawled through newspaper articles. The funeral had been small, but not private. He was the adopted son of Bruce Wayne after all. The papers had been all over it. Reporters from as far away as Star City came to gawk at the death of a child.

Of course none of them had really been there for him. He’d kept a relatively low media presence, appearing at the odd gala or making the occasional appearance for the Martha Wayne Foundation. Everyone had been there to see Bruce. Forever the bridesmaid, Jason hadn’t even been the main attraction at his own goddamn funeral.

There had also been plenty of speculation about Dick’s absence. Tonnes of stories about his and Bruce’s estrangement had been in circulation since before Jason showed up. His non appearance had been further fuel for the rumour mill.

Jason had convinced himself he didn’t care.

“I was on a mission off world, with the Titans. I didn’t find out until a week after. I would have gone.” He looked at Jason pleadingly. He obviously wanted Jason to understand he hadn’t skipped out by choice.

“Wouldn’t have mattered. I was dead anyway.” Jason shrugged. Strange how the details that had mattered so much such a short time ago now seemed meaningless.

Dick looked stricken at his response. Perhaps it was a bit blasé, but it wasn’t his job to help Dick with his stupid guilt complex.

“I wasn’t...I wasn’t a good brother to you.” Dick said quietly.

“It’s _fine_ Dick.”

Jason barely restrained himself form rolling his eyes. He had enough on his plate right now without all these stupid dramatics. He wasn’t capable of bearing another emotional burden on top of his own.

“It’s not though. It wasn’t.” Dick said firmly.

“Well, I said it is and I think I get to decide that.” He was proud of how bored he sounded. They may well have been talking about the weather for all the interest he was showing.

“The way I treated you was _wrong_ Jason-“

Jason blew a very loud raspberry. But Dick Grayson was not one to be deterred from the course of self-flagellating martyrdom.

“-and I don’t want you to think that I didn’t care or that I don’t-“

“Pffffffffttttttt.”

“-because I never let myself-“

“Pffffffffffffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttt!”

“-give you a chance to-“

“Oh for fuck’s sake, shut up!”

The venom in his tone almost took _him_ aback.

“What does it matter, Dick? You can’t fix it! You can’t make things better! I get it, ok? I was just some fuck up street kid who barged in and stole your life, we didn’t know each other, we didn’t even _like_ each other and we sure as fuck weren’t brothers, no matter what your stupid guilt complex has been telling you. You don’t owe me shit. Which means _I_ don’t owe _you_ shit.

So you can head down to lunch and give yourself a big old pat on the back for trying to make things right, get your fucking brownie points from Batman for trying to keep the peace. I don’t care. Just do what you do best and stay the fuck out of my life.”

Perhaps he wasn’t as coolly disinterested as he’d thought he was.

“That’s not what this is about Jason, please, I never wanted to...”

“Get lost!” Jason snarled, seizing one of the books on the locker and pelting it at Dick when he didn’t move.

The bastard caught it instinctively, of course. He didn’t even blink, turning it over in his hands, thumb running over the cover. His shoulders straightened, flicking through the tattered paperback. There were tabs sticking out of almost every page.

“A Study In Scarlet.” Dick said absently, brow creased.

Jason wished he’d thrown the lamp instead.

“That’s mine!” He growled, rising. He staggered towards the doorway, only for Dick to dart nimbly past him, back into the room. Jason whirled, a growl in his throat.

Dick held up his hands mockingly, a sunny smile firmly in place. Jason wanted to hit him.

“Hey, you threw it at me! That makes it mine now.”

Dick continued to clutch the book, easily dodging Jason’s clumsy swipes. He held it aloft, still skimming through it. He let out a low whistle.

“Jeez Jason, you musta gone through a whole pack of highlighters on this one.”

“I said, _give it back_.”

“And all these notes, sheesh! _The cop takes the bribe here to further symbolise the ineffectiveness and injustice of the police system all the way down to the lowest ranks – reiterating Holmes as the only incorruptible and morally upright instrument of the law-_ Christ, where were you when I was in English Lit?”

Jason panted, leaning painfully against the desk. The pain was abating slowly and he could already feel it was less intense than it was an hour ago, but his ribs still hurt like a motherfucker.

“It’s _mine_ you piece of shit, now give it.” It sounded less like a menacing demand and more like a whiny plea, but Dick handed it over.

“Bruce tried to get me to read them, The Holmes books.”

Jason carefully placed the book on the shelf above the desk, ignoring the twinge in his arm at the stretch.

Bruce had bought him the whole set of Holmes books. First edition, incredibly beautiful, leather bound copies in mint condition. Jason had only ever touched them once, to put them safely in the box under his bed. All of the books he _actually_ read were tattered paperbacks from second hand stores and charity shops. Jason liked to make notes as he read and you couldn’t do that with collector’s items.

Plus there was a certain excitement to holding an old weathered book in your hands. Knowing that it had been places and been through hands you could never possibly imagine. It was a book that had lived. Bruce had been a little baffled by his preference, but was wholly supportive. They’d often discussed their favourite books and what they were reading on quieter nights on patrol. Jason had savoured those conversations.

“I wasn’t really one for reading though – I _hated_ sitting still all the time and the books he liked were so _boring_ -”

“Shut up Dick.” Jason rubbed a hand over his eyes. All these fucking memories.

“We’re not doing this, ok? A half assed attempt at an apology and you refusing to piss off doesn’t make everything cool between us.” He could feel a headache forming, the pulsing in his temples echoing the fierce pounding of his heart. Why didn’t he just _leave_?

“I know. I know that Jason.”

“Then why _try_? Goddamn it Dick, I wasn’t good enough the first time round, what makes things so different now?”

Dick blinked rapidly, then sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was rough.

“It wasn’t you who wasn’t good enough, Jason. It was me.”

Oh no, Jason wasn’t here for the Dick Grayson Pity Party.

“Bull ** _shit!_** You’re _everybody’s_ Golden Boy. Do you have any idea how many of your fucking little pals showed up to tell me to my face how I’d never match up to the amazing Dick Grayson? How many times Gordon told me how clear it was that I wasn’t _you_ , how many times Batman told me how you’d have been better or faster or smarter?”

Jason wiped angrily at his eyes. Robin hadn’t deserved all that shit. _Jason_ hadn’t deserved that shit.

“They...we... _I -_ was wrong Jason. You were enough, you were more than enough. I was angry and stupid and jealous and I made you feel like shit and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know it’s not going to fix anything, ok? I just, there were so many times when I just thought over and over how I could have done better and how maybe if I’d been better to you that you wouldn’t have gone in there alone and that you wouldn’t have-“ Dick choked, tears running freely down his face.

“Dick-“

“-and I came back and you were just _gone_ and I couldn’t take it and Bruce couldn’t even tell me how and I had to read it in the **_report he sent to the Justice League-_** “

“-Dick!“

“- and then I came back here and Bruce was just destroying himself and Alfred can’t talk and there’s no one I could talk to and there was no way to fix it and the Joker was still alive and you weren’t and I just _couldn’t_ -“

“DICK!” Jason grabbed him by the shoulders, panic giving volume to his voice. Dick was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, his pupils were completely dilated and he was breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

He clung to Jason fiercely, his grip so tight Jason nearly winced. Instead, he pressed Dick in against his chest, mimicking how he’d seen Bruce do it so long ago. Dick was still murmuring something over and over, Jason could barely make it out.

“Don’t leave again, please don’t leave again, I’m sorry, please don’t leave...”

Tentatively Jason started rubbing circles on his back, humming under his breath. It was the way he comforted Damian when he cried. And he realised dimly, the way Bruce had comforted him when he’d been upset.

His mind boggled. This was Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder, sidekick turned superhero extraordinaire. He laughed in the face of death, soared to impossible heights, won the hearts and allegiances of everyone he met. The sunny, irrepressible Golden Boy. The one standard against which Jason had always held himself and had constantly fallen short.

And he was weeping in his arms. Crying as though his heart would break. Over _Jason_. Had he really carried this much pain around all these years? Had he somehow grieved the boy who’d replaced him, the child that had taken his life, his father, his home?

Eventually Dick calmed and his breathing evened out. He drew back, wiping at his eyes with his sleeves.

“Ssssorry...making it about me-“

Jason patted him on the shoulder gently, if a tad awkwardly. He’d had no idea his death had evoked such a depth of emotion in Dick. A tiny, miserable part of him (the place where the Pit dwelled) revelled in it. But mostly, Jason just felt sad. Sad for Dick, for what he’d endured. Sad for himself, for all the loneliness and hurt. But saddest of all for what they’d both lost.

“I’ll get you a tissue.” He said quietly.

He got up and went into the bathroom, sighing at the sight of the snot trail Dick had left on his shirt. After all of the puking Damian had done on him he should be used to this sort of thing. He grabbed a roll of toilet paper and re-entered the room to find Dick sitting on the floor. His head was buried between his knees. He crouched down beside him, handing him the toilet paper wordlessly.

Dick blew his nose. Loudly.

“I don’t blame you for that stuff. Me dying I mean.” Jason said softly, rocking back on his haunches..

Dick looked up at him, face still red and puffy, eyes still swollen. He looked so much younger like this, so vulnerable and hurt. Too young to have seen all the things he had, to have suffered as he had. They were all too damn young for this.

“If I’d have been there I could’ve-“

“It wasn’t your fault. You can’t torture yourself with could haves.” He said sadly. God knows he’d done enough of that himself.

Dick was silent, then he slowly reached for Jason’s hand.

“I’m still sorry.”

Jason looked at the extended hand and took it in his own, squeezing it gently.

“I know.”

* * *

Lunch was a quiet affair. No one commented on how long it had taken them both to come down or their matching red eyes. There were no exchanges beyond simple “Pass the relish” but Jason thought the air was a lighter than it had been before.

Of course, the fact that Bruce hadn’t joined them helped.

Jason was still unsure what he felt towards Bruce. No doubt it would filter down to him (if it hadn’t already) what had happened in Jason’s room. The initial warmth he had felt at finding it the way he had had dissipated and now he was stuck in a confusing mire of emotions.

On the one hand, Bruce had clearly felt _something_ for him. You didn’t keep the possessions of a child you thought had died if you didn’t want some connection to them. In pristine condition, no less. And of course, there were the ever increasing store of memories that were continuously encroaching on his consciousness.

Bruce ruffling his hair and praising him after a particularly rough patrol. Bruce hoisting him onto his shoulders at that Knight’s game they’d gone to. Bruce picking him up from school in the Lamborghini, honking and grinning as everyone stared. That had been after his first report card came in. Bruce had also stuck a “My Kid is an Honour Student At Gotham Prep” sticker to the bumper. He’d joked about getting one for the Batmobile too.

He rubbed his head, frowning. He hadn’t forgotten those times, not exactly. It was more like he’d pushed them aside. Pushed the sentimentality of them aside. It wouldn’t have helped him in his mission to destroy Batman, to remember Bruce.

Then on the other hand, Bruce had moved on. Without avenging him, without making his death mean something. Hell, there were two living examples of how easily Bruce had moved on without him sitting at this very table. Three, if he counted himself, he thought guiltily, glancing at Dick.

He _had_ replaced Dick. Sort of. No matter exactly how Dick felt now, that was pretty much how he and everyone else had felt at the time. It was certainly how he’d assumed Bruce had felt about him. He’d made a memorial of Jason’s _costume_ , his role as Robin, the role that Dick had filled.

But he’d kept all of Jason’s stuff...

He shook his head tiredly. Could Jason ever come to mean something to Bruce other than as a memory? As something more than what he had been and done for Bruce? If he’d loved the child that had died, the child that Jason had been and still managed to move on, what would happen when he learned the truth about who Jason was now? Dead Jason had been bad, sure. But he’d been Robin too. He’d never taken a life. He’d been a hero. The Jason of now was a killer with demons in his head and poison in his blood. He’d murdered people, the one thing Bruce could never forgive.

Jason didn’t think he’d be able to survive Bruce loving and leaving him again.

He pushed his plate away abruptly, not hungry any more. The food had no doubt been delicious, but Jason hadn’t really tasted any of it.

“Thanks Alfie.” He murmured, shoving his chair back with an ear splitting screech.

“Ah, Master Jason?”

Jason looked back blearily. Alfred had already gathered up all the plates and cutlery.

“Could I ask you to go and check on Master Damian? I put him down for his nap about an hour ago but the baby monitor keeps going off. Poor lamb can’t seem to settle.”

“Uh, sure. Where is he?”

“I’ve put him in a cot in Master Bruce’s room.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest but Alfred cut him off before he could begin.

“The poor little lad’s been missing you I think. Isn’t used to the rest of us.”

Well, Jason couldn’t exactly say no to that. Uneasy as he felt about going into Bruce’s room he wasn’t going to leave Damian alone any longer than he had to.

Seeming confident in Jason’s capitulation, Alfred nodded once and departed the room.

Jason sighed and began the long trek back up to the family wing.

Bruce’s room was at the end of the corridor. It wasn’t technically the master bedroom (that room lay untouched on the opposite side of the house) but it was certainly the largest, more of a suite than anything else. It was richly furnished, with an enormous canopied bed fit for an emperor. It could have happily fit the entire current Wayne brood with plenty of space to spare. As of now, it was thankfully empty.

A sturdy cot made of highly polished wood sat by the bedside. It didn’t look new. Jason wondered if it had been Bruce’s own cot as a baby. It was weird to picture a tiny little Bruce. There was the odd picture dotted around of Bruce as a child, as well as the formal portrait of him with both of his parents as a newborn. But it was still strange. Bruce would forever be this huge, indomitable figure in his mind, the first adult he’d ever been able to rely on.

The cots current occupant was wide awake and rattling the bars that enclosed him as if trying to calculate their durability. He had been crying.

“Hey bud.” Jason said softly, reaching down and scooping Damian up.

Damian shrieked, flinging himself at Jason with a heart breaking fervour, choking out little sobs. He clung tightly to his shirt, babbling at a frantic pace, desperate to have Jason understand.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry Dami.”

He pressed his nose to Damian’s scalp and inhaled deeply. Christ he _knew_ how Damian had reacted when he’d first taken him. Knew how panicked and scared the baby had been. He’d screamed and cried and had tried to bite Jason any time he came near him for weeks. Jason had stolen him from the only home he’d ever known and then as soon as he’d gotten used to Jason, he’d been abandoned by him to the care of strangers. No wonder the poor kid was so frightened.

“It’s ok Dami, it’s ok. Jason’s here.”

He started singing then, quiet and low.

Lullabies hadn’t exactly featured much in Jason’s childhood. His Mom had tried, bless her, but she had a voice like an alley cat trapped in a tin can. Jason didn’t know if Willis could sing. He’d certainly never done so in front of Jason and probably wouldn’t have approved of the practise. There was little that Willis Todd approved of and his son or anything he took interest in were nowhere on that list.

But Jason could sing. He used to sing along to the radio with his Mom when they were alone. His voice had been high and sweet then; “Like an angel!” his Mom used to say and she’d fuss over him in a way he pretended he was too grown up for but secretly relished.

Of course his voice had changed when it broke, no longer so high or sweet. It wasn’t bad though. He wasn’t Top 40 material, but his voice had a soft, crooning sort of quality to it. Damian certainly never complained. But Jason half suspected it was less the singing itself than the gentle vibrations of his chest that sent the baby to sleep.

He walked in circles around the room, singing until his voice started to grow hoarse and the last of Damian’s little sniffles died off, his breaths evening out and his little fists going slack against Jason’s chest.

“You’re good with him.”

Jason just managed to stop himself from jumping again, but it was a close thing.

“Jesus Christ, you oughta have a fuckin’ bell.” He hissed, scowling at Bruce standing in the doorway. What was with these Bats and their sneaking up on him today?

He pressed a kiss to Damian’s forehead and lowered his carefully back into the cot, pulling the blanket up over his sleeping form.

Bruce didn’t say anything. He walked silently towards them and peered down at Damian. He ran a reverent finger down the baby’s soft cheek, watching him with a kind of wonder and adoration that was almost painful to witness.

Jason knew objectively that bringing Damian here was the right choice. He was infinitely safer here, even as the son of Batman and Bruce Wayne than he was growing up in the League. But seeing Bruce now, so obviously and desperately in love with the child he’d met two days ago, well...it made it worth it. Whatever price Jason ended up paying, whatever sacrifices he’d made, he’d do it a thousand times over of meant that Damian grew up in the warmth and security of that love.

And...if it meant that Bruce got to feel all that...well, he supposed that made it worth it too.

He jerked his head toward the door, indicating that they should leave the baby to sleep. Bruce lingered a second longer, tucking the blanket a little more securely and gently brushing the dark hair back off Damian’s forehead, before following Jason into the corridor.

Jason drew the door closed behind them. The wood was thick. Damian probably wouldn’t hear them if they started shouting.

Not that he was going to get into another shouting match with Bruce, he promised himself.

“I brought burn cream. For your legs.”

Bruce held it out stiffly. Jason blinked. Of all of the things he had expected Bruce to open with, it hadn’t been that.

“I don’t need it.” He said calmly. It was true. The burns were mostly healed, the flesh had been pink and shiny, a little tender, but they didn’t require dressing. The burns hadn’t been that serious initially anyway. More embarrassing than anything else. He’d had worse. Way worse.

Bruce didn’t seem to buy it. His eyes narrowed.

“Jason, you don’t need to feel like you have to be strong-“

“I’m not an idiot Bruce.” He said, pushing down the flare of irritation at Bruce’s condescending tone. He may not have been the best at looking after himself but he wasn’t completely careless.

Bruce obviously didn’t agree.

“Goddamnit Jason, this isn’t about me trying to take charge again. I know you’re an adult and can think for yourself-“

“Then act like it and trust me!” Jason hissed.

For a moment they stood, glaring at each other, each willing the other to break first.

“If this is about the drugs again-“ Bruce began, but Jason cut him off.

“Of course it’s about the drugs! How the hell am I supposed to just dismiss that? You _swore_ to me Bruce. You promised you’d never, ever make me take painkillers-“

“Jason, you are not your mother-“

“What about all that research then, huh? All those studies I compiled, the fucking Powerpoint-“ 

“That doesn’t apply Jason, not since we learned about Catherine not being your biological mother-“

“Catherine _was_ my Mom.”

Jason’s blood boiled. How dare he? How dare he imply otherwise? Catherine Todd was his _Mom_. She was! She’d raised him! She’d loved him! Could Bruce say the same?

“I’m not denying that Jason, but the genetic risk factor is much lower-“

“You can’t say that, you don’t _know-“_

“We did the breakdown Jason.”

Jason had discovered his high pain tolerance almost as soon as he became Robin. It had worried Alfred for quite a while how he rarely reacted to being stitched up or having bones set. Which had in turn worried Jason that he wasn’t normal and had set him off on his little private investigation. He’d been horrified what he’d discovered about pain and addiction. He’d spent hours pouring over every study he could find. 40 to 60 percent of a person’s vulnerability to addiction could be linked to genetics and he’d obsessed non-stop about his own weakness, having two addict parents, one of whom was actually addicted to opioids.

He’d been terrified of showing his research to Batman initially, afraid he’d be thrown out for being just another junkie in the making. But his fear of failing Bruce had won out and he’d spent weeks on the presentation he’d made for Bruce, pleading not to be made to take any form of pain relief.

Technically speaking, unless Sheila had been hiding a habit, his Genetic Addiction Risk Score would be a lot lower now than his initial assessment. Willis had been an alcoholic, sure, but if only one of his “parents” (genetically speaking- he’d never lay any other claim to the people who’d spawned him) was an addict then he was way less at risk.

That was all technicalities though. Bruce may live and die for cold, hard logic but Jason knew what it was like to watch the person you loved most wither away to nothing. To see them dying the slowest and most painful of deaths by their own hand. Happily and repeatedly embracing their own destruction. He couldn’t let that happen to him.

“The DNA’s not the only part of it, there’s environmental factors too!“

He knew how desperate he sounded, green threatening to take over again. He wished it was rage that fuelled his anger now, rather than the sick, lurching feeling of fear.

“Jason, you’re in a controlled environment now and I’m here to help-“

“Fuck you!” He snapped.

Bruce didn’t understand, he’d never understood.

“I watched my Mom _die_ Bruce. It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t painless, it was miserable and drawn out. It took fucking months, by the end she had no fucking clue who I was.”

He shuddered, remembering the resigned hopelessness of watching her shoot up, day after day. Seeing her lie listlessly on the couch for weeks at a time, getting thinner and scratching at her skin until her nails wore down to numbs and her flesh was raw and bleeding. Jason had nursed her. He’d fed her, cleaned her, bandaged her as best he could. He’d gone out and stolen for them, begged her dealer for more when she went through withdrawals.

She’d depended on _him_ , at _nine years old_ for everything. She’d been helpless to her dependency and Jason could _never_ be like that. He couldn’t ever take even the tiniest risk – he could take the pain, hadn’t he proven that? Over and over, the bullet wounds, the beatings, the poison, the complete and unending torture that would never leave him, Jason had taken that. Jason could use the pain, he could fight with it. He didn’t need relief, he wasn’t weak, wasn’t dependant. Jason didn’t need anything or anyone.

He would never do to anyone what his mother had done to him.

He could never do it to Bruce.

“Jason, look at me.”

Bruce stared at him, solemn eyed and sad.

“You don’t need to suffer Jason. You don’t need to take on all of this pain alone.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No you don’t son.”

“It’s my choice Bruce. You _promised_.”

He hated the way his voice cracked. He sounded so young, like the little kid that had leaned on Bruce, even when he knew he shouldn’t. Even when he knew how others would hurt you and leave you down, he’d relied on Bruce, he’d depended on him keeping his word. He’d _trusted_ him.

“I know. I was wrong to break that promise Jay, I’m sorry. I can’t give you an excuse, there isn’t one. If I’d known what it meant to you, I wouldn’t have done it.”

Bruce sighed, a sound so deeply full of pain that it made Jason want to reach out to him. He looked haunted.

“I didn’t save you from the hurt the last time Jay.”

His hand rose shakily, pausing for Jason’s reaction. When Jason didn’t move, it cupped his face tenderly, the broad thumb swiping at a tear Jason hadn’t noticed slipping down his cheek.

“I needed you to save me _then_ Bruce. There’s nothing worth saving now.” Jason pulled away, hating that he wanted nothing more than to stay there. To cry on Bruce’s shoulder, to let go of the pain. To lean on him again.

Bruce grabbed his chin and tilted it up so they were eye to eye. A fierce determination shone on Bruce’s face under the haze of pain.

“You are worth it Jay. You are so so, so worth saving. You’re still the same Jason. Still my son. There’s still so much worth saving in you. I’m sorry I failed you, I’m sorry I didn’t protect you and that I made it worse when I tried. You’ll never know how sorry Jaylad. But you don’t need to be alone anymore.”

There was a muffled whine through the door. Evidently Damian had discovered Jason had left him again. Jason hesitated.

Could he really depend on Bruce? Could he open himself up again, make himself vulnerable in a way he hadn’t let himself be since he was a child?

“Damian’s crying.” He said softly. Bruce looked defeated.

“You should go to him then. He trusts you.” His let go of Jason’s face, utter weariness in his whole posture. He turned and Jason caught his arm.

“Maybe he does trust me.” Bruce’s skin was warm against his cold fingers. The arm was covered in scars and damaged tissue, just like the rest of him. Bruce had weathered so much. And yet there he was, still standing strong against the waves of suffering he’d endured. A place to harbour from the storm. Someone you could come to feel safe with.

“But you’re his Dad. And maybe...” He swallowed, his mouth dry. Bruce stared at him.

“...maybe one day he’ll trust you too.”

He bit his lip, watching Bruce carefully. Bruce blinked at him, eyes suspiciously bright. He grasped Jason’s good arm and squeezed it gently.

“I...hnnnn....ok. Ok. Thank you Jason.”He murmured.

Then turned and pushed the door open.

Talia stood in the centre of the room, Damian on her hip and a gun pointed right at them.

“Hello, beloved.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Apologies for the long wait - this chapter was a pain in the ass to write. I must have gone through about fifteen different versions of it, but I'm reasonably happy with this one, so please enjoy!

Jason tamped down on his first reaction to go in swinging. Recklessness and a desire to beat all of his problems into immediate submission was something no amount of torture or training had managed to completely stamp out of him. But despite what Bruce or anyone else might believe, he was capable of _some_ restraint. Especially where Damian was involved.

What he _really_ wanted to do right then was sigh. He honestly didn’t know what he expected. Things had been going in a marginally positive direction for him. He should’ve known that couldn’t last.

He drew a careful breath, keeping his eyes on the gun. Despite the fear rushing through his veins, he did his best to keep calm. He couldn’t afford to lose control of himself now. He’d have to play this very carefully if they all wanted to come out of this alive. Jason had a horrible feeling that this would end in a lot of blood and suffering all around if he didn’t.

It surprised him to realise that he did want to live through this. Actually live through this, rather than a vague hope that it would take the League a long time to track him down. He wanted to see this through, see an end. When exactly his mind had made the switch from suicide mission to a chance at a better life he wasn’t exactly sure.

It could have been just outside the door when Bruce told him he was worth saving. It might have been when he’d held a crying Dick and wished for a better future for both of them. When Alfred embraced him. Maybe when he’d given Steph a hand with her homework and got a sense of what it meant to help people again. Fuck, it might even have been when Tim, that nosy little asshole, had tried to get him to open up to him. But whether it was one specific thing or the thousands of nagging little thoughts he’d had since he’d first smuggled Damian out of the compound, his mind was made up. If he could, he was damn well going to make it out of this. Some stubborn, hopefully hopeless part of him wanted to live, to survive. To take the chance that Bruce and Dick and Tim and Steph and Alfred had offered.

But first he had to go through a whole hostage situation with Mama Assassin.

He and Bruce had done this kind of thing dozens of times in the bad old days. Him playing good cop (which was a fucking riot, given he’d never met an actual _good cop_ in his _life_ ) with Bruce as bad cop. Or with Bruce as a distraction, Jason swooping in and whisking the victim away to safety. Fuck, Bruce used to drill him on situations like this constantly. He knew by heart at least fifteen different strategies they could employ here. Of course they just had to pretend it was any other hostage negotiation and not their baby brother/son at risk. Easier said than done when he could almost taste the metallic tang of the Pit as it flooded his senses with the desire to kill. But he could do this. They just had to go in with cool heads and -

“Talia. Put Damian DOWN.”

Jason blinked. Bruce had often used that tone of voice. It was the low, gravelly growl of Batman. It was the one that made Robins shut up and listen and made criminals quake in their boots. The one that could make even the most obnoxious of Green Lanterns shut their trap. It was a lot of things, but it definitely wasn’t appropriate for dealing with a pissed off ex with a gun in her hands.

Talia narrowed her eyes, her glare, so like Damian’s when he didn’t get his way, was pure venom. Talia didn’t respond well to threats or ultimatums. 

“Put him down NOW Talia or so help me-“

“-You’ll what? Charge at me? Throw one of your little boomerangs? You’re not in a position to negotiate right now _Beloved_.” 

“No one’s interested in doing anything stupid Talia.”

Jason tried to reassure her. He held up his hands, side eyeing Bruce fiercely in an attempt to get him to stand down. Jason wondered if this is what Bruce had felt every time he plunged in head first without thinking. It was a little discomfiting to be the reasonable partner, watching the other one act recklessly for a change.

“That’s a first.” Her voice took on a dangerous edge as she turned to glare at him. Jason repressed a shudder.

“Leave him out of this!” Bruce boomed. If Jason hadn’t known any better, he’d have said the big bad Dark Knight was _panicking_.

“He’s not a child anymore Bruce.” Talia said shortly, still keeping her gaze fixed on Jason. She calmly levelled the gun so it was pointed at his face.

“He has to take responsibility for his actions.”

“Don’t you _dare_ point-“

“Talia, we can discuss this.” Jason said quietly, doing his best not to look at Damian, who was starting to stir from his place on his mother’s hip.

She had bundled him up well, so he wouldn’t be able to move much, tightly swaddled as he was. Probably a good move on her part. Less chance of him wiggling free, distracting her or getting hit in the crossfire. His stomach lurched at the thought and he had to suppress the way the blood in his veins started to boil. The way the ever present whispering grew louder, demanding that they just kill her where she stood.

“You took him from me.” Talia said coldly, ignoring Bruce altogether.

She looked at him her head tilted to one side slightly, considering him. Taking in the way he favoured his ribs even as he faced off against her. Then she lowered the gun so it was pointed at Jason’s torso instead. Gut shots were nasty, even with his advanced healing he’d be lucky not to bleed out. The damage to his chest and side were already severe. They wouldn’t hold up against any further strain. It would be a painful way to go.

Talia knew that.

Jason wasn’t afraid of guns themselves. He was feeling plenty terrified right now, for Damian, for Bruce, for himself. But not because of the presence of the gun. He’d had plenty of experience with them, both as part of his training under Talia and in his time on the rough streets of Gotham. He’d seen (and felt) what a bullet could do to flesh, knew how easily and quickly it could snuff out a life.

Jason didn’t fear guns, but he did respect them. Especially when it was Talia Al Ghul with her finger on the trigger.

“Yes.” He replied calmly.

Bruce had tried to edge between him and Talia. Whether he was trying to act as a shield or to get a better chance at grabbing Damian, Jason wasn’t sure. Either way, Jason wasn’t going to let him. He shifted so he was still in Talia’s line of sight, sending a mental glare at Bruce. He’d be damned if he’d come all this way to let Bruce wriggle out of being a Dad to Damian at the end of it by getting himself killed.

“After _everything_ I’ve done for you.” She clicked her tongue in a mock disappointed way, shaking her head.

Jason supposed she had really done quite a lot for him, all things considered. Rescuing his amnesiac ass, plunging him in the Lazarus Pit when it was clear he couldn’t take anymore experimentation, arranging and paying for his training. Hell, she hadn’t even complained when he’d killed most of the tutors she’d got him. Plenty of reasons to be grateful. And he had been. But coming here, seeing what he’d missed so she could fulfil whatever messed up agenda or play for power she was trying to achieve...well, he wasn’t exactly feeling up to writing her a thank you card.

“Yes.” He said again.

Talia’s control was legendary. He’d seen her lead death squads and fight off entire cabals of rival assassins single-handedly, without breaking so much as a sweat. Never breaking form, never losing her composure. She still had the best poker face of anybody Jason had ever met – he’d spent a good part of two years trying to study her tells and was still no closer to learning them than he had been at the start. Bruce was an open book by comparison.

Now though, her stance was rigid, her grip on the gun shaky. There was a sort of wild look in her eyes, desperation and unbridled fury informing her every movement. He’d seen escapees from Arkham with more composure.

And all of that anger was focused on him.

He understood it, of course he did. Damian was hers and Jason had taken him. By the law of the League, he deserved to die for so much as touching an Al Ghul without permission. Let alone working against the League and approaching their greatest enemy for asylum. It must’ve cut at her to know that that was an option for him, that despite all her efforts, he still wasn’t loyal to her. That he would return to the place he had told her he hated. That he was happy to hand her child over to a man he claimed had as good as killed him, had betrayed and hurt him over and over.

Talia knew Bruce though. Had known him and in her own way, had loved him for far longer than Jason had. She couldn’t have actually believed what he’d said. Hell, with the benefit of hindsight and the doubt brought about by long suppressed memories over the past forty eight hours even he had to admit he didn’t exactly one hundred percent believe the things he’d said either.

Talia had to see that Bruce would love this child, that he did _already_. That of the two of them he stood the best chance of being able to give Damian the kind of healthy comfort and support that a growing child needed. That he could keep Damian secure, that he could protect him.

He just had to convince her of that.

“This isn’t what you want, Talia.” He kept his voice level.

She let out a loud, slightly unhinged laugh. He noted the dark circles under her eyes, the way her grip on Damian tightened ever so slightly. She was more than angry. She was afraid.

She was the one with the gun in her hands, Damian on her hip and all the power and yet she was still afraid. He seized onto that thought, his mind running at a thousand miles an hour. If he could exploit that fear, use it so she could see-

“And how would you know that, hmmm?” She glared at him with loathing in her eyes, teeth bared in a mocking approximation of a smile.

Jason blinked slowly, not allowing his let his calm facade slip. He just needed to let her think she was in control, talk her down, avoid pointing fingers-

“You stole my son from me.”

Jason bit back a curse. For the love of God, the man struggled to string a sentence together when Jason had _needed_ him to communicate properly, now as everything hung in the balance he couldn’t shut up for two goddamn seconds!

He and Talia both turned back to Bruce. For a second, he had almost forgotten Bruce was there. It pricked at him, reminding him of how Bruce had lurked behind him as Batman, a protective shadow, watching over Robin’s every move. Ready to sweep in and save him. Except this time, it was Jason who could save them, if Bruce would only let him. He tried to look at Bruce, to convey what he was thinking, how he knew how to get them out of this, but Bruce wasn’t looking at him. Couldn’t let himself be distracted from the danger Talia posed, it seemed.

If Talia was livid, Bruce was a whole other level. Rage radiated from his every pore. Jason, of all people, knew how dangerous anger like that could be. But there was that same fear Talia had there too. The tension in his spine, the way he seemed barely capable of preventing himself from trying to grab Damian, who had by now started to struggle and whine in Talia’s ever tightening grip.

Both of them were so very afraid, he realised, frustrated. Each afraid of the other. If they just paused and thought this through-

“Please Bruce, forty eight hours ago you didn’t even know he existed.” The disdain in her voice was palpable, but Jason thought there was an undercurrent of...something in her voice. Guilt? He wasn’t sure Talia was capable. But then again, he never thought he’d see her scared either. If today was proving anything, it was he knew even less than he thought he did about his former mentor.

“I’m not talking about Damian.”

Jason scowled, even as warmth crept into his chest at the words. Now wasn’t the time or place for Bruce to go heaping blame on an already unbalanced Talia. Much and all as he...appreciated the idea that Bruce had been upset by his death, he was letting his emotions unbalance him. He wasn’t thinking clearly and his recklessness was going to -

Jason almost smiled. Bruce had trained him and drilled him and quizzed him all throughout his time at the Manor, doing his best to encourage critical thinking and logical planning. Funny that it wasn’t until now that he was starting to think like Batman, he thought wryly.

Talia let out a derisive laugh.

“Oh yes, of course. Your _son_. The one you treasured so _dearly_ you got him blown up. Forgive me Bruce if I don’t exactly rate your parenting skills.”

Personally, Jason didn’t think she was all that great in that department either. He may not have been her kid, but the training regimes she’d out him through were little short of torture. Hell, some of them were _actual_ torture. He didn’t want to think about what Damian would have been subjected to under her tender mercies in the League.

“HE WAS MY SON AND YOU STOLE HIM FROM ME!” Bruce roared, spittle flying. Jason took an involuntary step back. He’d never seen Bruce act so... _unhinged_.

“You did that yourself. I merely reminded him of the _truth_.” She hissed, gesturing with the gun for emphasis.

Jason caught Damian’s eye and the baby began to struggle in earnest, clearly put off by all the shouting and wanting the only person he knew. Jason didn’t dare reach for him though, not with the way the two of them were going at it.

It was like watching wild animals circling each other, two predators waiting for the other to show weakness before they sprung.

“Talia, you know why I had to do this.” Jason said, taking a careful step towards her. He had to deescalate this somehow. Unfortunately, he’d had plenty of experience trying to separate warring parents. It had never ended well for anyone involved in the past, especially not him, but he was willing to take the risk of Talia lunging for him if it meant Bruce could get a hold on Damian.

She whipped the gun back up, pointing it at him again.

“I know why after all of my time, my money, my expertise I wasted on you that you had to _betray_ me and _steal my child_?”

Her breaths came heavy and something in him twinged. It was clear she had _felt_ that betrayal. For her, this went beyond what he’d done in taking Damian. She’d...she’d trusted him. And that was a startling revelation. That Talia Al Ghul had put faith in him, had believed in him and his loyalty to her. Guilt pooled in his belly, absurd as it was, for breaking that trust.

“He couldn’t have grown up in the League Talia.” He said quietly.

“Of course he could! He was to lead it – IS to lead it. He will take over as the Demon’s Head, he will be the greatest-“

“You _know_ that’s not true, Talia.”

He pleaded silently with her, doing his best to remind her why. She flinched and broke their gaze. If she thought too hard on it, truly convinced herself of Damian’s destiny as Ra’s successor, then any hope of her surrendering Damian peacefully was lost. He had to remind her of how she’d suffered, how they both had, to shift the blame to a common enemy.

“Talia, think about it. Think about what he’d have to go through. What Ra’s did to me. What he did to you. Do you want him to do that to Damian? Because he would. And he will. Anything we endured, everything Ra’s did to break us and reshape us; the killing, the bleeding, the torture, the experiments- he’d do it to Damian ten times over. Do you want Damian to go through that? To end up like me?”

He gestured to himself as he spoke, making sure to emphasise his visible injuries and to let the lingering weakness from his poisoning show. He couldn’t show her the demons in his head, but he knew that she was aware of them. If only because she knew them herself.

“Oh and what would you know? You think you understand the League, understand my Father?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes in disgust. It was a poor attempt at saving face, regaining what little composure she had. She was on the defensive and they both knew it.

“Maybe not as well as you do-“

“You know _nothing_ about _anything_! You have no idea how I’ve suffered, how I’ve struggled-“ She paused, breathing heavily. Then her gaze narrowed on him again.

“You think Damian would be better off growing up _here_? The place where you told me you’d never felt so alone, where you were replaced before you grew cold in your grave, under the thumb of the man you claimed treated you more like a tool than a son? You want _Damian_ to grow up-“

“I get it, OK? I know!” Jason snapped, his face flushing.

He could feel Bruce staring at him. He bitterly regretted treating her as his confidant. He’d known even at his most naive and outraged she was not his friend or his counsellor. But he’d persisted in raging to her about his hatred of Batman, of all Bruce had done to him. He’d desperately needed an outlet, someone to vent to. Her own feelings toward Bruce weren’t clear to him (though they’d obviously been friendly enough not so long ago) but she seemed to relish his rage, to use it to feed some of her own.

The hatred had, of course, been a shield for the gaping wound left by the realisation that Bruce had moved on from his death. The wound that still festered, the one injury the Pit could never heal.

“I wasn’t-“He paused, licking his lips nervously and glancing quickly at Bruce.

“I told you that stuff because I was angry Talia. You know what it’s like here. You know Bruce would never hurt Damian like that.”

“So it’s not true then?” She asked, coolly.

He winced. He couldn’t lie, not fully. She’d be able to tell.

“It wasn’t perfect-“

“So you’re trying to sell me on leaving my child with a man who you don’t trust, who you claimed never loved you, who you wanted to _kill_ less than two months ago, based on what exactly?” She arched a brow, coldly imperious.

“It’s not easy here Talia, I won’t pretend it was.” He swallowed, thinking back to those hard, lonely years. He was pretty sure Bruce was trying to catch his eye.

“But it’s better Talia. No kid’s going to grow up one hundred percent happy and I know I wasn’t-“ He shot Bruce an apologetic look. It was the truth, but that didn’t mean he didn’t regret having to say it this way.

“- but something’s changed here. Since I died I mean. The kids here are happy, even Dick likes Bruce now! I’m not saying he’s perfect as a Dad, but he’s trying, you know? And he really loves Damian too, even though it’s only been two days. I think...I think, if you give him some time, maybe learn to trust him a little-“ He turned to Bruce this time, locking eyes with him as he spoke.

“-he might just surprise you.”

“Jason, I –“ Bruce’s voice was hoarse with emotion, Jason was pretty sure there were tears welling in his eyes. He was taking a hell of a gamble here, trying to convince Talia, but he was kind of taken aback at how much he meant what he said. He shook his head fiercely at Bruce, urging him to keep quiet. 

“Besides- “ Jason said, returning his focus to Talia. She was watching them both with an odd expression on her face.

“-you can’t trust Ra’s Talia, you know he just wants to use Damian.”

“That’s not true – Damian is his _heir_ -“ It was clear from her tone even she didn’t fully believe what she was saying. Jason seized on that insecurity and pushed on.

“Damian is a vessel to him Talia. A means to an end – a body he can inhabit when the current one can’t take another regeneration. Even in the _best_ scenario, Damian becomes a puppet. He grows up beaten and moulded into Ra’s image until there’s nothing left of the person he could have become. Is that what you want for him?”

Even giving voice to those words sickened him. Ra’s viewed people as disposable. He was all about his great and powerful bloodline, but both of them knew how little anyone mattered to him. Even Dusan, the son he’d wanted, was rejected for failing to meet his impossible standards. Jason hadn’t met the man, but he knew the crushing weight parental disappointment could be. At least he knew Bruce had loved him (did love him?), even if he couldn’t quite measure up.

Talia faltered. It seemed even she could only lie to herself so much. Jason pressed on, stepping closer to her, his expression earnest.

“C’mon Talia. I know you love Damian and that you hate me for what I did. But deep down, you know his place is here. Where he can be safe. _Safe_ Talia.”

Jason almost whispered the word. Talia had never complained, never put voice to the horrors that Jason imagined had been her childhood. But he knew her. He’d seen the look in her eyes, watched as she suppressed and buried any feelings and fears she might have had, over and over. She was only human too, after all, she still had emotions, doubts and insecurities that Ra’s (despite all his torturing and oppression) couldn’t completely beat out of her. They lay there, just beneath the surface and Jason knew just how to drag them into the light.

“Can’t you see it, Talia? He grows up here, he has that safety. He can be whatever he chooses, without the Al Ghul legacy hanging over him. No one...” He choked a little, but continued, fierce protectiveness in his voice.

“...No one will ever hurt him, Talia. I told you it’s not perfect, but he’ll have a real family. One that will love him and protect him with everything that’s in them. And they’ll screw it up sometimes, sure. They’ll fight and he’ll feel angry and rejected sometimes-“ It took everything in him not to look at Bruce again.

“But they’ll fix it and get better and do better together. Learn from their mistakes and work to make each other happier. Don’t you want that for him? For him to have a _home_?”

She shuddered at the word. He had her. He knew her enough at least, that in the twisted, messed up way that was all she was capable of – she loved her son. She wanted him to have what she never had – the power to be free from fear, to decide what he wanted for himself. The idea of safety, of real, loving family was pretty alien to both of them, her and him, but they knew enough that Damian deserved it. However he could get it.

They weren’t so different. Both of them broken and hurt beyond repair – both determined to make sure the ones they cared about would never suffer the way that they had. She’d gotten it a bit twisted (hell, so had he for a while) that the only way to save themselves and others were to reach a level of power, of strength where no one could hurt them again. But that kind of power and strength was hollow. There was no point getting to a position of invulnerability if you had compromised yourself and hurt the very people you were trying to protect getting there.

She swayed a little, indecisively. Her eyes darted about the room. For the first time it occurred to him to wonder how she got in and past all of their security. Obviously Fort Wayne wasn’t locked up as tightly as Bruce thought if two separate intruders could break in over the course of a couple of days.

The same thought had obviously struck Talia. Her spine straightened, a hard look in her eye reappearing.

“It’s not safe here. If _I_ can get in-“ She began, then stopped shaking her head, lips pursed.

He stepped forward again, trying to appear as reassuring as possible. He couldn’t have her doubting now. Not when they’d come so far.

“Then help us. Help us make sure he’s safe. Tell Ra’s he’s a failure, show us how we can make sure no one ever hurts him again.“ She stared at him, then glanced down at Damian, her expression softening.

“ Ok.” She said quietly, running a hand across Damian’s hair. She pressed a kiss to the baby’s brow and then turned to nod at Jason. He stepped forward cautiously, arms outstretched, almost whimpering in relief when she passed Damian to him.

“Hey buddy.” He mumbled, letting the tears that had been threatening for most of the tense exchange, finally fall. Damian sobbed and clutched him closer.

“Thank you.” Jason said, looking up at her. He felt Bruce moving to stand behind them and turned to pass the baby to him. Damian resisted briefly, but exhaustion and his previous struggles for freedom had worn the poor kid out and he settled into Bruce’s arms without much protest.

“Don’t thank me.” She said. Her eyes strayed longingly to Damian in Bruce’s grasp before her steely mask of composure snapped back into place.

“My Father won’t take any of this lightly you know. I’ll run interference as best I can, but you might want to lay low for a while.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, you know me, I love the quiet life.” Jason grinned.

Both Talia and Bruce let out identical snorts of disbelief, expressions immediately turning serious when their eyes met.

“You ever try to interfere with my family or keep my sons from me again I’ll destroy you.” Bruce said with a chilling kind of resolve.

Talia arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“You can certainly try.” She replied with the arrogant disdain the Al Ghuls did so well.

Jason tensed minutely, half afraid they’d start at each other again, but Talia merely turned to the window, sliding it up and slipping one leg out.

“Goodbye Jason. I’ll be in touch.” And before Bruce could spring after her or yell at her or whatever it was that his Over Protective Dad Instincts had him wanting to do, she was gone. He didn’t bother peering out after her, it was already dark outside and if she didn’t want to be seen, they wouldn’t catch her.

“I’ll have Alfred rewire all the windows and run a diagnostics check on the security. Maybe get Tim in to help look for further breaches, we’re not going to-“

“Bruce. It’s ok.” Jason placed his hand on Bruce’s arm. Bruce almost jumped and Jason withdrew it hastily, shoving both hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“We’re safe, alright? Talia’s not interested in coming back. At least not for a while.” He stared down at the carpet, mulling over her parting words. He had no doubt she _would_ be in touch too. But at least for now he could relax a little.

“She should never have gotten in the first place! She had a gun pointed right at you Jason, I-“ Bruce looked like he was going to be sick. He dropped into a nearby chair, pressing Damian closer to his chest, his free hand flying up to cover his face.

Jason pressed his lips together, trying to think of what to say. What was there to say?

“GUYS, GUYS WE HAVE A BREACH ON REAR FORREST ENTRANCE- whoa, did I miss something?” Steph had bounded into the room, running at full tilt and skidded to a halt, just shy of crashing into Jason. She stared at the obviously shaken Bruce with wide eyes.

“What’s his problem?” She murmured, talking to Jason out of the side of her mouth.

“Nothing a good cup of Alfred’s Irish Coffee won’t fix. Will you run ahead and get him to make one, heavy on the Irish, easy on the coffee?” He asked. Jason doubted the whiskey would do much for Bruce in the state he was in, but he figured it would at least distract Steph for a couple of minutes.

“Uh, but the breach-“

“Is handled. We’ll talk about it downstairs in a bit, I promise.” He said firmly. She shot him a look that said that she’d be holding him to that promise, but skipped off.

Jason watched her leave before turning back to Bruce. He coughed awkwardly.

“Uh so, you were saying before-“

“Leave it. We’ll discuss it downstairs.” Bruce appeared to have rallied himself while Jason was dealing with Steph. His face had lost that awful, chalky whiteness and he’d stopped trembling, his expression was resolute. But he clutched at Damian the way Talia had – with a desperate, fierce kind of terror that belied the image he was trying to present.

Jason swallowed his retort and nodded, striding out of the room ahead of him.

It occurred to him then that he’d never planned for any kind of future more than a week in advance. If the League were going to step back from trying to murder him as Talia had said they probably would, what the hell was he going to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Bruce probably seems a bit OOC here, but I promise I'm going to get into discussions about that in later chapters! As well I know a few of you probably won't like the idea of Talia getting away unscathed but it's a lot cleaner this way, trust me. Thanks a million for reading!


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